Sons of Jerusalem
by seashadows
Summary: Nothing about Theodor Derensky's life has ever been simple. All he wants is to juggle academia and obligations to his family while keeping his sanity, which is harder than it seems. But when a confused and sleep-deprived English triage nurse stumbles into Friday-night dinner at the local Hillel, everything changes. Modern AU, Jewish Dwarves.
1. Terrible as an Army with Banners

"Danny! Danny-Danny-Danny, it's time to get up!"

"Wha…?" Daniel Reisberg groggily forced his eyes open long enough to look into his sister's eager face. "Oreet, sweetie, I'm napping."

"You napped already." Oreet rolled her eyes, big and deep brown and contrasting sharply with her pale, freckled cheeks. "C'mon, it's _seven_ already. We're gonna miss Hillel!"

"We're gonna what?" Daniel looked at the clock. 6:55 PM – Oreet was right. Shit, Omer was going to chew them out for being late again. "Oh… _fish sticks_ , thanks for waking me up." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, straightening his wrinkled button-down shirt as he went, and stood up so fast that his head spun.

"You dressed, honey?" he asked. He wasn't, not properly, but at least his normal work uniform wouldn't raise too many eyebrows. Even Omer, who prided himself on knowing (most of) the services and remembering to put on his tallit more often than not, didn't get on his case over khakis and a button-down.

"Yeah. Look, I have my shoes on and everything." Oreet twirled in place, making her purple plaid skirt swish out. Daniel briefly considered licking his palm and smoothing down her hair, but she hated it, and even thick and coarse as it was, it was lying relatively flat right now.

"Good," he said instead. "Where's your brother?"

"Right here!" Oreet pointed at him and giggled, then shook her head. "You mean Noah? He's in the kitchen."

"And he's not dressed properly, or I'll eat my hat." Daniel stepped into his shoes. With his tufty brown Mohawk and eyeliner thick enough that it could serve as house siding, Noah had long ago made Daniel give up hope that he'd ever make himself into a productive member of society. Never mind the jail record; the way he dressed would make the original Rav Hillel himself crawl into a hole and die.

"No, but he got his other eyebrow pierced. It looks really cool," Oreet said, grinning. "It's all red and puffy, like a bee sting!"

"Oy gevalt," Daniel moaned, slapped a hand over his eyes, and darted a quick glance towards the ceiling. He was holding the big guy responsible for this, benevolent or not. If God could force Noah the First to obey him about the ark, why couldn't He at least tell Noah Reisberg to quit drawing stares on purpose? "Well, he knows where the peroxide is. God forbid he should die before I do, because now –"

" – you'll never get him in a Jewish cemetery and the _goyische_ ones won't take him. I know," Oreet interrupted.

"That's right, and don't you get any ideas about facial piercings, young lady. Your brother's going to turn me gray before I'm forty." Daniel shrugged on the pumpkin-colored pullover he had draped over his desk chair and grabbed his wallet. "Ready?"

Oreet grabbed the hand he held out and went with him down to the kitchen, where Noah's smirk and eyebrow as puffy as Oreet had reported it to be stood out like a stain on the yellow-and-white tiles. "Thought you were gonna sleep forever," he said, half-tilted back on two chair legs.

"Well, I didn't," Daniel snapped. "And take that thing out. It's an eyesore and a tetanus infection waiting to happen."

Noah rolled his eyes. "I'll be sure to let you run my life when hell freezes over. C'mon, they'll start without us." He stood up, letting the chair legs hit the floor with a screech that made Daniel shudder, and held out his hand to Oreet. "Ready to eat, Ori?"

"Yup!" Oreet grabbed his fingers and started for the garage, holding a brother's hand in each of hers. "My colored pencils are still in the car, right?"

Daniel slid into the driver's side, buckled up, and started the engine. "Right up front, sweetheart. Now let's roll."


	2. The Keepers of the Walls

It had been a fucking bitch of a day, if Theo did say so himself. Summer always took it out of him, what with the pressure to write intensifying in the absence of a full class load. He'd been warned again and again that that was the trade-off one made in the world of academia, but once again, he hadn't listened to anyone but his own hard-headed self. If he could go back and punch his twenty-five-year-old self in the _kishkas_ , he would.  
For now, though, it seemed he'd have to settle for yelling at his nephews. "Uncle Theo!" eleven-year-old Philip shouted as Theo walked through the entranceway of Hillel's social hall. "Hey, Uncle Theo! How's it hangin'?"

"Yeah, how's it hangin'?" Caleb piped up from his seat next to his brother. "OW! Mom, he kicked me!" He glared at Philip and did something under the table that made his brother yelp in reply. "See? When you kick me, I kick you back."

"Mom, Caleb copied me and then he kicked me!" Philip complained. "Make him stop."

On Caleb's other side, Theo's younger sister Dinah rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her dark curls. "Don't make me have to separate you two." She fixed her sons with the kind of look that had made Theo nearly pee himself even when he was twelve and she was only four, then gave Theo a (thankfully) much kinder look. "Hey, Theo. Didn't know if you were gonna make it."

"I took the evening off." Theo sat down across from her at the all-purpose table, which was just as scratched and worn as the ones he remembered from Hebrew school. Ditto the chair, which dug into his ass and which he strongly suspected was made for fifth-graders. "I can do my grading tomorrow."

"But it's summer," Caleb said. "Right, Dad?" He turned his face up to look at his father, who stopped drawing an impromptu tic-tac-toe board on his hand at the question.

"Your uncle's talking about summer classes," Vince said. "What is it this year, Theo? Intro to Middle Eastern Studies?"

"Yeah. Gimme that, would you?" Theo held out his hand, palm-up, for the pen. Vince deposited it on top, and Theo immediately started drawing a historically-accurate hangman on the underside of his forearm. "It's Middle Eastern Studies for this session, then I'm giving a senior seminar in August about Sumerian technology and warfare. Should be a more interesting group than the idiots I'm teaching now." Around him, the buzz of various people entering and sitting down dissolved into an almost pleasant hum of scraping chairs and low conversation.

Of course, just when Theo was starting to relax, that whole vibe was rudely interrupted by the sound of someone banging on a pot. "Shalom, everyone!" Omer Rabin called out from his usual position at the front of the room. As usual, his particular brand of fake Hebrew-English patois made Theo want to rip someone's head off – how long had it been since the guy last _went_ to Israel, much less spoke Hebrew regularly? Hell, Omer's younger brother was better-versed in the culture than he was, and he'd been born in America. "For those of you who weren't at _ma'ariv_ -" and here, Theo could swear Omer was looking straight at him – "Shabbat Shalom, and let's get started with the _Kaddish_."

"Okay," Theo muttered back as Omer bustled about, getting everything ready. "Dee, are the leprechauns here yet?"

"Jeez, Uncle Theo, that's racist!" Phil said.

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Philly," Theo shot back, ruffling his nephew's hair across the table. "Besides, it's only racist if I make some comment about them being Jewish, and…well. Anyway, what else am I supposed to call them? The Three Bs? Scions of the IRA? The Good, the Bad, and the Unintelligible?"

"Theo!" Dinah exclaimed as Vince collapsed into laughter so extreme that he nearly fell off his chair. "That was uncalled for." She raised an eyebrow in Vince's general direction. "No matter how immature my husband wants to be about it."

"Don't touch my hair, Uncle Theo."

"Once again, Phil, not the response I was going for," Theo said.

"So what?" Phil crossed his arms and gave Theo a pretty good imitation of one of his mom's weaker glares. "You asked if they're here. They're here, okay? They got here a while ago." He jerked his thumb backwards at a table behind them.

Dinah clamped a hand over Phil's shoulder. Theo narrowly avoided wincing. Experience with that particular move had taught him how much it hurt. "Philip Tuvia Adler-Derensky, you apologize to your uncle for interrupting and being rude."

"I'm sorry, Uncle Theo."

"No big deal. Let go of him, Dee – I think he's learned his lesson."

"Fine," Dinah said, releasing Phil's arm. Caleb giggled uncontrollably. "Caley, it's not nice to laugh at people's pain."

"Yeah, I know, but Phil isn't people. Phil's Phil," Caleb replied. Theo blinked at him. If he wasn't careful, he was going to have an existentialist – or at least some approximation of one – for a nephew. "That means I can be a jerk to him."

"No, it doesn't," Theo said. "Vince, you know how much I hate to quote Family Guy –"

"You love it," Vince interjected.

" – but _as I was saying_ , get off your ass and do some parenting."

"Yeah, yeah. If my kids weren't sitting right here, I'd be showing you the rude side of my hand right now." Vince ruffled Caleb's curls, making his younger son squeal. "Ready for dinner, buddy?"

"Speaking of, what are we having?" Theo craned his neck and searched the tables for the Irishmen whom he termed 'the leprechauns', finding them a few rows back. "Hey, Boaz!" he called. "You know what we're having?"

"Search me," Boaz Budin yelled back. "Oi, Benny!" He turned his head and gestured towards his brother, who was coming out of the entrance to the kitchen. "What're we having?"

"Oh, it's a treat today," Benny said. As usual, with his apron and trusty red T-shirt on, he looked like a ginger-headed Santa Claus – only with more of a belly. Theo didn't know a kid alive who didn't like to bounce on it, including his incorrigible nephews. "We're doing a kosher English dinner!"

"Conquerers' food?" Boaz dramatically pressed the back of his hand against his forehead. "Oh, Benny, you're breaking m'heart!"

"You say that now, but you'll be eatin' the spotted Dick like everyone else." Benny dusted some nonexistent flour off his hands and sauntered back into the kitchen, presumably to put the finishing touches on some dish or other. He really was the best cook Theo had ever met, and that was saying a lot.

" _Va'y'khulu ha'shishi,_ " Omer sang out, interrupting everyone's conversation, " _va'y'khulu ha'shama'im v'ha-aretz…_ "

"Finally," Phil said, and tugged his father's sleeve. "He took forever!"

"He'll take forever just to finish one prayer, Philly. I doubt you'll be disappointed." Theo leaned across the table and smirked at his sister. "You know, the way he sings, I always think he's trying to say 'come here, Cthulhu' instead of starting the Kaddish."

"Oh my _God_ , Theo. We're in public." Dinah rested her chin on her hands. "Don't make me have to muzzle you."

Theo obligingly shut up for the remainder of the prayer, but he was just as relieved as Phil and Caleb were (judging by the fact that they had resumed kicking each other under the table) when Omer finished droning and pronounced the final "Amen," the cue for everyone to raise their glasses of grape juice and/or wine and drink heartily.

"Good," Omer said, just as he always did – who was he complimenting, anyway? – and picked up his trusty pot and spoon, then shuffled over to the door. "All right, everyone who's hungry, come and eat!" he shouted. He held the spoon high, then took a few hearty whacks at the pot with it.

Dinah cringed. "He does realize that's a Passover thing, doesn't he?"

"Somehow, I don't think you'll ever change his mind about that," Theo answered.

"Come and eat!" Omer said one last time, lowering the spoon and turning around to go back to his position at the front of the room. "Come in!"

And then, much to everyone's everlasting surprise, someone did.

Notes: Omer's prayer is the traditional (and long-winded) Hebrew prayer over wine, sung on the evening of the Sabbath. It's called the Kaddish - or Kiddush, if you're going for the Yiddish. Sounds weirdly like Khuzdul, doesn't it? ;) Ma'ariv is the evening prayer service, and kishkas = nads.


	3. I Sought Him, But I Found Him Not

The newcomer forever earned himself the nickname "The Britiot" among some members of the Hillel contingent when he congenially slapped Gad Rabin's back in line to the food and commented "I say, that's an amazing beard!"

While the beard-wearer in question gaped at him, Gad's nine-year-old son, Galil, poked his father's arm. "Dad, has this guy _ever_ seen a beard before?"

Gad shook his head. "Um. Okay…thanks?"

Theo watched with increasing glee from his table vantage point – he could always get his food later, but this was too good to miss – as the guy loaded a plate up with some of everything that Benny had made, got a chunk of challah, and then (oh, dear God, no) made his way over to the tables, sitting down next to Theo.

" _Hi_ ," he said, shooting the man his best 'I'm a Fucking History Professor and I Will Albrecht von Wallenstein Your Ass' look. He wasn't half bad-looking from this distance, especially since Theo could always be wowed by brown curls and a comfortable belly, but the way Phil and Caleb were cracking up right now made this the worst possible place for the new guy to sit.

If there was one thing Theodor Derensky hated, it was being mocked.

"Hello." The man smiled at him. "Good to meet you. I'm Bill Baggins." He bit into his challah, then closed his eyes and let out a sigh that Theo would have said was orgasmic under any other circumstance. "Good lord, that's delicious!"

"Haven't you ever had challah before?" Caleb asked. "What kind of synagogue did you go to?"

"Synagogue? Oh, I'm not Jewish." Bill Baggins – heretofore to be called _Baggage_ in the sardonic privacy of Theo's mind – shook his head and took another bite. "This is lovely, though, from what I've heard. Very accurate for an interactive museum."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Theo said. Dinah could get on his ass all she wanted for swearing in front of the kids, but this went beyond acceptable behavior and into LOLCats levels of ridiculous.

Baggage blinked. "This isn't an interactive museum? Oh…" His cheeks went bright pink. "Oh, bugger. Sorry. One of my patients told me – well. I suppose I shouldn't trust a man who comes in with fireworks burns on his – well, that's confidential."

"Patients? You mean you're a _doctor?_ " Theo wasn't about to be fooled by any fancy accent. Anyone who conferred a doctorate on this guy had, in his opinion, officially lost their fucking mind. "Jesus F. Lipschitz."

"No, no," Baggage said. "I'm a nurse. CNP. Er – just a moment." He shrugged off his purple windbreaker, revealing noxiously green hospital scrubs. Across the table, Phil poked Caleb and whispered something that Theo could hear had to do either with aliens or American Dad. "I've got ID." He unclipped a plastic card from the scrub top and held it up in front of Theo's face.

Apart from the typical mug-shot look that Theo knew all too well was a consequence of bad ID photos, Baggage didn't look like a serial killer or anything…save for a really unfortunate choice in hair-care products, that is. When you were six-foot-plus and had hair down to your ass, you learned quickly what worked, and what resulted in a Jewfro of apocalyptic proportions. Thanks to a combination of living minutes from the Atlantic, various pieces of bad advice, and what Dinah called "being a stubborn asshole," Theo was possibly the world's foremost expert in dealing with curly hair.

"So what brings you to Hillel, Mr. Baggins?" Dinah asked. "Forgive my brother, by the way. He is _absolutely_ usually like this, and you shouldn't pay him any attention." She kicked Theo under the table in a move that would have gotten her sons screamed at if they tried it on him. "Theo, shut up and let the man eat."

"Seriously," Vince said. He held up a forkful of something indistinguishably English, shoved it into his mouth, and talked through a mouthful of mush. "Omer said 'come in', and he did. What doesn't make sense about that?"

"Intellectual curiosity and hunger," Baggage replied, obviously addressing Dinah's question. The color hadn't disappeared from his cheeks, and Theo didn't blame him. "I'm starting to think that my patient was really taking the piss out of me – sorry, taking the Mickey." He coughed. "This isn't the first time I've treated him for similar problems."

"Mom, he said piss!" Caleb exclaimed, tapping Dinah's shoulder repeatedly. " _Mom!_ "

"'Piss' isn't a swear word, buddy," Theo said. "Now if you _really_ want a swear word, you should watch me when I stub my toe. 'Piss' and 'motherfucker' and ' _ben zonah_ ' are gonna be the least of it."

Dinah opened her mouth, probably to scold him, but Danny Reisberg stomped over from the next table before she could say one outraged word. "Theodor, do you mind keeping it clean? I'd like my sister to remain uncorrupted, thank you!" He put his hands on his hips. "So who's our newcomer?"

"His name's Mr. Baggage!" Phil said. "He's a nurse."

"That's _Baggins_ ," Baggage said, sounding a little annoyed. Good. Theo was going to have to give Phil a big soda later for being on the same hilarious wavelength _or_ for just mishearing in the first place. "Sorry, I didn't get your name."

Danny straightened up a little, not that it was noticeable or necessary with his radioactively orange sweater drawing the eye to the ugly, and honest-to-God _preened_. "I didn't say. Daniel Reisberg, Esquire."

"Esquire!" That seemed to impress Baggage. "Terribly fancy, that."

"It's just a J.D.," Vince said, laughing. "C'mon, Danny, don't try to make everything fancy. He's a lawyer, Mr. Baggins."

"Family law, mostly," Danny continued, looking slightly deflated. Of course, he usually looked like a distinguished (and aging, thanks to Noah) professor, but the aforementioned deflation combined with his sweater made him look like a sagging inner tube – that or a silver-haired teddy bear.

"Very impressive!" Baggage said, standing up and shaking Danny's hand. "I'm a nurse practitioner at the Veterans' Hospital." Theo took the opportunity to discreetly ogle his ass. Not bad, but the scrubs were way too baggy.

"We always need more of those." Danny nodded and pointed at Theo's table. "That's Dinah Adler-Derensky, her husband Vince, and their sons, Phil and Caleb. And that's her brother Theo Derensky, who –" Danny lowered his voice and leaned in towards Bill, lowering his voice to a stage whisper. " – well, who's the biggest flamer north of New York City."

Theo could actually _feel_ his eyeballs shaking. That was going to be a headache later. "Daniel. I do not _flame_. The only time in my life that I've flamed was the day that idiot apprentice tried to stoke the forge at the Village."

"As you say, Theo." Danny winked and patted Baggage's shoulder. "So you might want to take that into consideration."

"I certainly couldn't – oh, I say, who's that?" Baggage froze in place, his eyes locked on the Budins' table. Benny had finally left the kitchen, and was now digging into what looked to be a cake doughnut covered in chocolate mousse. "The bloke with the scar. I'm sure I've treated him!"

"Eh?" Danny turned his head in the same direction. "That's Bram Budin. If you treated him, it was probably during one of his episodes."

"He has them sometimes," Caleb put in. "Mom? I really gotta go to the bathroom."

"Go ahead, Caley," Dinah said. Caleb nodded and ran off. "Yeah, as far as we can tell, Bram had some problems with the police back in Ireland. He got hit on the head hard enough that he only speaks Hebrew. I'd guess that his cousins understand…what would you say it is, Vince? A quarter of what he says?"

"Yep, sounds about right." Vince took a drink of water.

"Bram?" Baggage rubbed his chin. "That sounds…deceptively cuddly."

"'Deceptively' is right," Danny said. "Although he doesn't really go off that much. He's usually pretty nice, if you can put up with him being incomprehensible." He smoothed down the front of his sweater with his palms. "I'd really rather put up with him than with my brother, what with –"

Theo looked around to see why Danny - and most of the rest of the room - had stopped dead. As if to prove his brother right, Noah Reisberg had chosen that exact moment to drop his ratty jeans and show Dwight Feldman his naked, hairy ass. Officer Dwight Feldman, of the Lexington PD. And, formerly, of Mossad.

Never before had Theo wanted a bucket of popcorn so much in his life. This was going to be a _show_.

"Good lord!" Baggage exclaimed, barely audible over the commotion that Noah's ass was causing. "Does this happen every time?" He sat back down next to Theo and shoved another chunk of challah in his mouth, clearly of the same mind that Theo was on the matter. Good man.

"Just when Noah's drunk," Theo answered, relishing Baggage's discomfort. "It's Defcon One over there." He watched with delight as Danny simultaneously tried to cover Oreet's eyes, scream at Noah, and tell Dwight that he'd pick Noah up from prison in the morning if necessary.

It was then, of course, that Caleb came back and draped himself all over Dinah. "Mommy?" His regression to the baby name and suddenly _miserable_ tone of voice made Theo turn sharply to look at him. God, the kid looked like shit. "I threw up."

" _Dammit_." Dinah looked guiltily at Phil. "Sorry – swear jar. Vince, get the car, would you? We're going home."

"On it," Vince said, and got up.

Phil shook his head. "That's not a swear. Noah said it last week." He was no longer laughing like a loon, as he had been doing for the past few minutes, but his face was red with suppressed laughter. Smart kid; Theo would have had to yell at him otherwise for adding to the whole clusterfuck.

"Yeah, well," Dinah muttered, shoving her cell phone and a stray piece of challah into her purse, "there's a lot of bad stuff you can learn from Noah Reisberg. Case in point is right over there. Theo, do you mind taking Phil tonight?"

" _Why?_ " Phil whined.

"Because what he has is likely very contagious," Baggage said, "and I doubt your mother wants to deal with two vomiting boys all night."

Loath as Theo was to award Baggage any points on intelligence, he had to admit that Phil's whine dropped a few decibels after he said that. "Okay," Phil said, "but can we get pizza?"

"Kid, we can get whatever you want as long as it's not illegal. I don't want you turning into that." Theo stood up, jerked a thumb in Noah Reisberg's general direction, and fumbled his car keys out of his pocket. Dinah, busy corralling Caleb, took hers out, too. "Dee, lemme know if you need anything. Aspirin, Pedialyte, cyanide, whatever."

"Yep. Come on, Caley, let's get you outside." Dinah put a hand on Caleb's back and hustled him out the door, probably so he wouldn't get a chance to throw up where some of the fussbudget-ier members of Hillel (read: Omer) could see.

Theo figured this was probably his cue to get the one healthy nephew he had left to his house, where presumably he would stay that way. "All right, Phil, let's get going. You, Baggage."

"It's _Baggins!_ " Against all odds, the man was _still_ eating.

"I don't care what it is." Theo pointed at him. "If you come back next week, you better not make any fucking comments about people's beards. We're proud Jews around here."

Baggage gulped, although it was unclear whether that was from nerves or from having beef Wellington caught in his throat. "Er, duly noted."

"And wear some better clothes next time. Those scrubs don't do a thing for your ass." On that note, feeling that he'd hit just the right combination of insult and innuendo, Theo hustled Phil out the door.

Notes: Mossad is pretty much the Israeli CIA. I imagine Dwight was very, very frightening in his role as their hired muscle. 'Ben zonah' is Hebrew for 'son of a whore.'


	4. A Thorn Among the Lilies

Notes: I am so very sorry for the delay in updates. This is a Sushi chapter, and in traditional Sushi fashion, the last few months have been a cavalcade of allergens, bacteria, autoimmune fuckery-dickery, and the entire Helliday Season. Also, Seas came to visit for two weeks, and I was way more interested in cuddling and spoiling her than writing. ( ) But it eventually got done. Don't worry. I'm letting Seas take the reins for a while. I only hope this chapter is pornful and angst-tastic enough to make up for the delay. :D

"Awww!" Noah watched Theo leave with Phil, even as Feldman cuffed his hands behind his back. "Come on, Theo! You're missin' the fun!"

"I've seen enough of your ass for one night, kid. Have fun with your prison sex!"

"I can do that." Noah grinned back over his shoulder at Feldman. "You gonna use your nightstick on me, Officer?"

" _Noah!_ " Danny attempted to cover Oreet's ears with his elbows and her eyes with his hands even as Feldman growled.

"What's prison sex?" Oreet said. "Is there kissing?"

Before Noah could answer, Feldman scruffed him. "Keep your mouth shut, Reisberg. You're in enough trouble."

Noah snorted as Feldman marched him out of the building. He called back over his shoulder, "Walk my dog for me, squirt! See ya tomorrow!"

" _Bye, Noah, I'll walk Trayf and put bows on his ears and bring him home some dessert-_ "

The door cut off Oreet's voice, and Noah took a deep breath of suburban Boston air. It had cooled off a little, what with the sun starting to set, and Noah twitched to wander off. A lot of strays came out at night-not just him-and he was pretty sure he could finally get close enough to that tabby behind the Gas'n'Go to look at her funny eye-

He realized Feldman hadn't read his Miranda rights. Noah looked back at him, and yelped when the bastard yanked his hair.

"Fuckin' pig! Police brutality! _Police brutality, Danny! I want my lawyer-_ "

"Just _shut up,_ Noah. Get in the fucking car."

Noah sneered as Feldman unlocked his Jeep-a real Jeep, military surplus or something. Apparently, it was great for camping. Not that Noah had much camping to look forward to. He was just about due for some judge to send him away for a long time. The thought left him with a pit in his stomach. Yeah, it was inevitable, and it was sure as hell better than being drugged up in another psych ward, but that didn't mean he wanted to be bottom bitch to some guy named-

"Wake up!"

Noah flinched at Feldman's shout in his ear, and realized Feldman was. . . .

"Why're you takin' the cuffs off?" Noah rubbed his wrists, keeping his arms close to himself. He sidestepped, and Feldman manhandled him into the car and slammed the door.

Every instinct born of five years in juvie and more on the street screamed for Noah to run.

"Hey, man." Noah held up his hands as Feldman climbed in and buckled both of them in. "That was just a joke back there. I dunno what's goin' on here, but just take me in, okay? I know there were kids around. It was a shithead thing to do. Okay? We cool?"

Feldman only glared and pulled out into traffic.

Noah huddled into himself. He didn't dare look away from Feldman, nor did he try to jet. His hand shook as he reached into the rattiest part of his mohawk and pulled out the three joints he'd tucked away for later and set them on the dash.

"Look, that's all I got on me. I'm handin' it over, see?" He rubbed his nose with his wrist, feeling more and more like a cornered rabbit every second, and he couldn't help but laugh. "All I wanna do is go look at this cat I've been checkin' on, then I'll. . . ."

Noah trailed off as his heart started slamming against the inside of his chest. Fighting to breathe, he wrapped both arms over his head and squeezed his eyes shut. A burst of air hit him from Feldman's window, and he yelped-but the window closed before he could beg for one of his joints to calm him the fuck down. And just like Feldman had thrown out his weed, he'd killed off any hope Noah had of seeing freedom for a long, long, long time.

"No more of that shit at Hillel," Feldman said, and Noah whimpered.

"I need those."

He flinched when Feldman patted his shoulder.

It took a couple of minutes for Noah to realize they were going the wrong way-back towards Concord, away from Feldman's cop shop. He wondered if Feldman might drop him off at home, maybe with a slap on the wrist. The blazing hot ball of hope that lodged in Noah's chest made his lungs hurt. But maybe, just maybe, this one time Ha'Shem had decided Noah deserved a break-

He thought he was going to puke up his dinner when they pulled into Feldman's driveway.

"Hey." Feldman put a hand on Noah's shoulder as the garage door lifted. "You're shakin' like a leaf, kid."

"Don't hurt me." Noah squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't even care if he sounded like Reety getting her flu shot. Anywhere was better than here.

"Get inside."

Noah nodded, and tasted bile in his throat at just how spineless he really was. His hands slipped as he tried to unbuckle his seat belt, and all he could see in his head was his father, Robert Noah Reisberg, Asshole of Assholes, drawing back to punch him yet again.

Even that nearly knocked him down in a wave of guilt as he got out of the Jeep and smelled house paint and gunpowder, sawdust and age. Sure, he'd taken a few hundred beatings, but it was nothing, _nothing_ compared to what Danny took in order to save Noah's pathetic ass.

The kitchen looked like it hadn't been redecorated since the '70s, all avocado and harvest gold. The whole ceiling glowed with long fluorescent bulbs, the nauseous reddish ones, and planted the seed of a headache in Noah's scalp. He rubbed his arm as Feldman opened the fridge.

"What're you gonna do to me?" Noah said, staring at the yellowed tile floor to keep away from the lights. He jumped when Feldman thrust a beer into his hand.

"Apart from save your ass from a sex offender conviction?" Feldman opened his own bottle, and Noah realized the bottles weren't screw-top. "It was either cuff ya and walk you out, or let Omer call the guys on duty. Want me to open that?"

Noah nodded, and flinched when Feldman pulled the cap off, again, with his naked hand. Feldman handed it back, and Noah stared at the bottle, wondering if he was going to wake up and be twelve again, bruised everywhere it didn't show and too fucking scared to call the cops. (After that shit, spending thirteen to eighteen in juvie psych was a Goddamn cake walk.)

"Noah?" Feldman snapped his fingers a few times, and Noah looked up. "You drinkin' that or makin' friends?"

So Noah did the only thing he could and chugged the whole thing.

Feldman narrowed his eyes. "You wanna go sit down? This isn't Theo's place, so don't expect top-of-the-line everything."

Noah nodded and hurried away from Feldman and his horrible kitchen. Around a corner, he found the living room, which seemed okay enough. TV, PlayStation, big couch for a big scary man. Lots of books, which was weird. Noah had never pictured Feldman with any kind of book, unless he was throwing it at someone-including quite a few of Noah's buds from his time in juvie, and after Danny kicked him out for toking in his room.

He spent a couple of minutes looking through the bookshelves. It helped him get his breath. Lots of thrillers, spy stuff, military stuff. A wall of science fiction-the hard kind, written by people with PhD's in rocket science. A bunch of T. D. Darrens: weirdly detailed historical novels with really awesome sex. Everyone at Hillel seemed to read the guy's stuff, though Theo called him a "best-seller hack." Noah figured his copies of the guy's books had historical corrections all over the margins.

"Or you can read something. That's cool, too."

Noah jumped and flattened his back against a bookcase. Feldman, standing in the doorway, lifted an eyebrow. He held a six-pack and a couple of bags of chips. Noah gulped and rubbed his eyes, so the back of his hand came back smeared with black eyeliner.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Feldman didn't even look at Noah as he flopped down on the couch and turned on the TV. "Anything you wanna watch?"

Noah gripped the shelf behind him like he could climb it all the way to the clouds. "Why am I here?"

Feldman took a long drink of beer. "I didn't want you ending up in prison for trying to get my attention like some dumb kid. Believe me, you've had it."

"Whaddya mean, attention?"

Feldman glanced at Noah, then turned back to the TV. "I'd have to be brain-damaged not to notice you mentally undressing me for, what, nearly three years now? Even Bram's noticed, and he _is_ brain-damaged."

"I haven't done anything to you." Noah bit his bottom lip. He knew damn well he'd spent every Friday night since he joined Hillel eyefucking Feldman, but eyefucking and being dragged to the guy's house weren't in the same ballpark. Fuck, they weren't even the same game.

"Yeah, well, you're full of shit. I think you showed me your ass 'cause you want me to get up in there."

Noah snorted and pulled a paperback off the shelf behind him so he'd have something to do with his hands. "So what? I sit down, you're all over me like schmaltz on Benny's cooking?"

"I'm not gonna touch you unless you touch me first. I've been around enough scared kids to know better." Feldman cracked another beer and held it out. "And I really did bring you here to keep you away from the guys on duty."

For what seemed like a long time, Noah watched Feldman. Feldman didn't move, only looked at him like he was one of the dogs-starved, beaten, with collars grown into their necks-that Noah rescued from yards in the darkest time of night.

Except Noah wasn't desperate for affection. He wasn't about to whine and lick Feldman's hand even as he flinched from a blow that might or might not come. Whatever he might be, whatever he'd done for money on the street, he wasn't about to roll over for any hand that scratched his ears instead of kicking him.

He set the book back on a shelf, and slunk forward to snatch his beer and sit as far from Feldman as he could. Feldman only picked up the remote and flipped through channels until he found _Dead-Alive_ , then tossed the remote in the middle of the couch.

For a long time, Feldman watched and laughed and ate chips. Noah kept looking back and forth between the TV and Feldman. Even the goriest movie ever made wasn't enough to let him forget where he was. He dropped his attention to his full beer, and cringed when Feldman laughed at the top of his lungs.

"I thought that guy looked familiar." He pointed to one of the punks in the graveyard scene, then grinned at Noah. "Wash off the eyeliner, and you'd be a dead ringer."

Noah lifted an eyebrow, but took a good look. "Oh, fuck off. You need to get your eyes checked."

"I call 'em like I see 'em." Feldman held out his open bag of kettle chips. "Want some?"

Noah rolled his eyes, but stuffed his hand in the bag and grab a handful. Mouth full, he said, "If I look like that guy, you look like the naked guy in the chair in _Jekyll_. Y'know, if he was Jewish. And lost a fight with a meat grinder."

"Naked guy in a chair, huh?"

Noah threw some chips at Feldman. "Shut up."

The rest of the movie went a little faster than Noah expected. As it turned out, Feldman was pretty cool to watch gallons and gallons of blood with. Noah nearly shot beer out his nose when the guy started going, "Bow chikka bow bow," during the zombie sex scene, and they fucking _high fived_ over the lawnmower. He didn't even get pissed off when Noah called him a pig for making him spill beer down his shirt laughing.

"I can put something else on," Feldman said over the credits.

Noah wanted to say yes-he _really_ wanted to say yes. But he knew Feldman's type: all buddy-buddy 'til the next time your name turned up on a docket. He found Feldman watching him. His eyes were a lot bluer than they looked from the other side of Hillel. And his beard had a little more gray than he'd assumed. It looked good on him. Really good. Really, really fucking good. Which was saying something.

Noah, who prided himself on being an even bigger slut than Theo (if only because he wasn't picky about his partners having a dick), reminded himself: don't fuck cops. His buds had tried it before, and they ended up in a cell as usual, just labeled pigfuckers. It was a good way to get shivved.

"I gotta go."

Feldman lifted his eyebrows. "Wanna ride?"

Noah shook his head and hurried to neck back the last of his beer, only his third of the night-not counting the Goddamn syrupy Manischewitz Omer insisted on serving at Hillel.

Still, Feldman walked him to the door. "Pet that dumpster kitty for me."

Noah smiled, and left before he could second guess himself.

It felt a little weird, walking away from Feldman's place. "Goddamn cop," he muttered, hands in his jeans pockets. "You lookin' to get knifed?"

From the secret pocket he'd sewn inside the waist of his jeans, he pulled out his butterfly knife and whipped it around. It had saved his ass a few times in sketchy parts of town, and once at a rave when he'd hit on the wrong guy. Mostly, though, he used it to saw through leashes and collars, or painful clumps of fur, or plastic bags, like the one he'd found Trayf in when the little guy was just a puppy.

If he got picked up with the fucking thing again, he'd probably be away from home for five years, maybe more. Oreet would be, fuck, at least fifteen by the time he got back, and hopefully not getting it on with some asshole like Ma did. Danny would be disappointed; he'd told Noah a hundred times to throw it away, give it to Theo, _something._ But it kept him safe, and it had saved a lot of animals who were just as fucked up as he was.

Feldman would probably be pretty pissed if he knew about it.

Noah stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. It was about ten o'clock, he guessed. Oreet no doubt had a book with her in bed. Danny was probably online, maybe chatting with someone in his parenting support group. Or his other support group. Noah shivered in the warm June night.

He should have just punched Danny in the face and let Ma do her thing with _him._ Would've let Danny escape, and Noah had always been the disposable one. Their dad made sure everyone knew it, especially Noah.

He should've stuck around Feldman's. It felt weird that he hadn't gotten an uncomfortable hug. Or a goodnight kiss.

Tucking his knife back into its pocket, Noah turned around and dragged his feet back the way he'd come. He was no pigfucker, but there was no shame in stealing a little peck.

His mouth went dry as soon as he knocked. In fact, if the shrubs in front of Feldman's place hadn't been covered in inch-long thorns, Noah would have dived for cover and congratulated himself on a prank well done. His feet refused to move, and when Feldman opened the door-stripped out of his button-up from Hillel and wearing a T-shirt that left the most dangerous details to Noah's imagination-all Noah could do was stand there for a moment and work his mouth. Feldman cocked an eyebrow.

"When you were with Mossad." Noah's palms felt damp, and he stuck his hands back in his pockets. "Did. . . did you kick ass for the Lord?"

Feldman lifted both eyebrows and chuckled, almost a real laugh. "No, Israel."

"Oh."

"You come all the way back to ask me that? I thought _Boaz_ was a pop culture junkie."

Noah shrugged. It had been a stupid idea, and now he'd made it even worse. Feldman folded his arms.

"You waiting for a goodnight kiss or something?"

"What if I am? You gonna take me in, piggy?"

"Nope." Feldman leaned against the doorframe. "You gotta make the first move, though."

"The fuck would you even want me to? You're just gonna harass me about something next week."

To Noah's wary surprise, Feldman looked at the ground. "Come on, Reisberg. You're smarter than those shitheads you hang out with. Gentler, kinder, funnier. Should I go on?"

Noah managed not to back away. "You wanna fuck me?"

"Yeah. But only if you do, too."

"You wanna fuck every armed criminal that comes to your house?" Noah pulled out his knife and flipped it open.

Feldman held out his hand.

Noah watched him. Feldman watched him in return. There wasn't a Goddamn thing to stop him hauling Noah in on assault charges. One of Noah's buds was in Cedar Junction for assaulting a cop, and he only managed to smash up the chick's car with a brick. A knife? At the door to Casa Bacon?

Feldman held his hand steady, palm up, like he was offering something.

Noah closed his knife, and dropped it in Feldman's hand.

"You call this a balisong? Whatever you paid, you got ripped off." Feldman looked the knife over, then tucked it in his back pocket. "You wanna come in?"

Noah shook his head. "Uh. See you next Friday, I guess."

"Yeah. See you then."

Goddamnit, Goddamnit, Goddamnit, he was chickening out. One kiss goodnight, that's all Noah wanted, so what happened? He handed over his knife and. . . .

Feldman caught the doorframe when Noah took his face and kissed him. Noah pulled back, his lips damp and his heart pounding for more, and would have laughed at Feldman's stupid stare if he wasn't determined to run the three blocks home and jack off like a teenager.

He caught Feldman around the neck when the man kissed him, a long, slow, sweet kiss that grew a little deeper every time Noah thought he'd caught his breath. It finally broke, and Noah stared up at him, balanced on his toes, his ancient sneakers threatening to slip on the tiled step.

"Was-was that goodnight?" he said, gazing into Feldman's dilated eyes.

"Do you want it to be?"

Feldman's husky voice sent a quiver through Noah, and he shook his head. So Feldman kissed him again, and Noah returned it while Feldman picked him up by the waist and shut the door. Noah found himself pressed against it. He dug his nails into Feldman's back and shoulder, doing all he could to not just rub off as Feldman kissed his neck, heavy brown beard thick and coarse. He squeezed Noah's ass. Noah whined.

"Couch or bed?" he whispered, and Feldman hoisted him up so Noah could wrap both legs around his waist, and carried him down the hall to the most boring bedroom Noah had ever seen.

"You get your decorating tips from Cheap Larry's By-the-Hour?" he said as he looked around at the white walls and brown carpet and beige bedspread and curtains. He yelped when Feldman threw him on the bed.

"Mind your manners," Feldman said as he pulled off his T-shirt.

Noah usually would've argued that lack of taste was ruder than calling someone on it, but he bit his bottom lip and paid attention to Feldman's abs and chest and, _Goddamn,_ his shoulders. He gripped the ugly bedspread beneath him, hands itching to explore the graying hair on Feldman's front, and the thick, dark trail running into his jeans. While Theo transcended the human-Sasquatch divide (as Noah had been horrified to learn the first time they hooked up), Feldman was damn near what Noah whacked off to when he didn't have a girl in mind.

Feldman smirked and put his (dear _God_ ) arms out. "You like the view, then."

"Uh-huh." Noah was pretty sure he sounded like an idiot, but it seemed minor next to leaning back on his elbows, watching his favorite cheesecake in the flesh.

When Feldman touched him to strip him of his shirt, Noah screamed like a little girl.

"Hey, hey!" Feldman held up his hands. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Noah. The hell was that?"

"Uh. Sorry." Noah pulled his knees to his chest. "I thought you were just gonna stand there, I think."

"The hell would I do that? It kills the point."

Noah shrugged. He looked up to see Feldman watching him. Feldman held out a hand for a moment, then cupped Noah's face. Noah held as still as he could. Feldman only stroked his eyebrow.

"You ever consider braiding these things?"

Noah laughed. "I tried once. Rather let 'em dread, but they won't."

Feldman snorted, then kissed Noah's eyebrows. It was a weird sensation. And it let Feldman grab the hem of Noah's T-shirt before Noah had a chance to jump.

"You don't really seem like someone who'd do well in an anarchic state," Feldman said as he pulled it over Noah's head. He pushed him back on the bed, and Noah couldn't help but moan when Feldman pinned him by the shoulders. Feldman cocked an eyebrow. "Kinky."

"You have no idea."

Noah quivered all over when Feldman growled and ran both hands down his chest. He squeezed Noah's nipples, and Noah arched into it, gasping.

"Surprised these aren't pierced," Feldman said.

"Tried once. Oh, _fuck! Harder!_ " Noah moaned when Feldman twisted his grip back and forth. He ran his thumbs over Feldman's abs, and could have stayed there for a long time if he hadn't let them drift to his jeans. "Please?"

Feldman growled and kissed him. Noah kissed back, teeth and tongue as much as lips, and whimpered in response to Feldman's growls and low grunts. Feldman slid his fingers through Noah's chest hair and tugged, and Noah wrapped both legs around him and yanked them together.

"The fuck you waiting for?" Feldman said against Noah's mouth. Noah took the hint and unbuttoned Feldman's fly, though he stopped there. A nervous little voice inside him insisted he was about to fuck a pig, and pigfuckers never ended well.

"Hey," Feldman said after most of a minute. He drew back and frowned, and felt Noah's forehead. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'."

"Don't gimme that shit. What's wrong?"

Ryan. Nathan. Ismael. Wayne. DeLyon. Pigfuckers all. Shanked in some cell or other and left to bleed. Noah'd sent condolence cards to Nathan and DeLyon's parents, even though they'd never met, and got emails back both times, their parents shocked that anyone who'd known their sons would give enough of a shit to think of them.

Noah looked at Feldman. "You know what happens to pigfuckers?"

He cringed on instinct. Instead of yelling or slapping him or whatever, though, Feldman just looked sad. Noah went still when Feldman hugged him.

"Do I gotta keep you on a leash? You're not goin' back."

"The fuck do you know? And nothin's keeping me out of psych hell. Fuck me up on tranqs for three days, then put me on meds they keep insisting work just fine, but I can't remember my Goddamn name. Maybe that's how they know it's working."

Noah wrinkled his nose. He shouldn't have said anything about the nuthouse. Bad enough to be a criminal without being a fucking psycho.

Feldman looked pained, and lowered his voice. "Who the hell convinced you you're worthless?"

Noah lifted an eyebrow. "Robert Reisberg."

Feldman grunted. "Your father was a piece of work. Suicide by cop, my ass."

"His name was Robert Noah. I'm Noah Robert."

Feldman drew back and stared. His fingers tightened on Noah's shoulders, though he looked more or less as vaguely pissed off as he ever did.

"What the fuck," he finally said. "Why didn't he just put a sign on your crib that said, 'Angel of Death, stop here'?"

Noah shrugged. Goddamn naming traditions. Feldman took his chin and kissed him, then stripped out of the rest of his clothes and pushed Noah back against the pillows and stretched out on top of him, strong and broad and heavy, and hard and safe all over.

"You're not a pigfucker," Feldman said against his mouth. "You're just fucking me."

"Feldman-"

" _Dwight._ "

"Dwight-"

"Just go with it, okay?"

Noah closed his eyes. He couldn't ignore the insistence of Feldman's-Dwight's?-lips on his, or the soft rasp of his beard and the scratch of the trimmed ends of his mustache. All ten of Noah's fingertips rested against Dwight's sides. The muscle there moved with harsh breaths and both of their efforts to press closer. Noah slid his fingers around to Dwight's back, and tightened both his arms when Dwight whimpered for more.

"I'm cool with whatever," Noah said in his ear, and Dwight looked into his eyes.

"Whatever whatever?"

"Yeah. Just, like, warn me if you're gonna cut me. Anything like that."

He winced inside when Dwight just looked sad. Dwight kissed Noah and sat up.

"Get your clothes off and turn over. I'll be right back."

Noah only wondered for a second what he'd gotten himself into before he stripped down and got on his stomach. Well, Dwight was a nice enough guy. And, with luck, Noah'd get a good, hard fuck out of it, too.

He was still getting settled when Dwight came back with a roll of plastic wrap.

"You know, foil does a better job of preserving your victims against freezerburn," Noah said.

"Shut up." Dwight got on his hands and knees next to Noah and zerberted the shaved part of his head. Noah yelped.

"It's not funny!" He rubbed his tingling scalp while Dwight laughed. "Dick!"

"That's _Officer_ Dick, Reisberg."

Noah flinched. Dwight broke off laughing with a forced cough. He sat back on his knees and opened a drawer on the Ikea-standard bedside table.

"Sorry, Noah." He poked through the drawer with one hand and rubbed Noah's back with the other, which helped more than Noah expected. "Just get comfy, okay?"

Noah watched for a few moments as Dwight-Officer Dwight-considered a couple of bottles of lube, and finally turned his head to face the windows. They made him feel a little better. He could sneak out later and maybe pretend nothing had ever happened. There came the crinkle of condom wrappers, and Noah closed his eyes and smiled. A good, hard fuck fixed most things for a little while.

Dwight nudged Noah's legs apart. Noah rubbed his face against the pillowcase, which smelled like it had been slept on for three or four nights, as Dwight knelt between his knees and kneaded Noah's ass.

"Doesn't anybody feed you?" Dwight reached down and pinched Noah's hipbone.

"Yeah. Local jail's got great powdered eggs."

Dwight grunted, and to Noah's surprise kissed the small of his back. "I'll make you some real ones in the morning, if you wanna stick around."

Noah looked back over his shoulder. "The hell?"

Dwight looked unimpressed. "I didn't say you have to."

"I. . . people don't usually. . . ." Noah trailed off and buried his face in the pillow again. Smooth. No wonder he always had Cheerios in strawberry milk with Oreet.

He jumped when Dwight kissed his ass. While he'd certainly spent his share of time imagining cops and CO's doing that very thing, none of them ever gave him a little nuzzle with it in his imagination-or ran both hands up his back 'til he groaned. A boulder of tension seemed to evaporate from his shoulder blades, and he shivered as Dwight cupped his sides and drew both hands to his hips, still kissing here and there on both cheeks.

"Oh, _God,_ " Noah said.

"Hmph. If you don't keep saying that, I'm losing my touch."

"Don't flatter yourself, donut breath."

"Do I need to put the cuffs on you?"

Noah pressed back for more. Dwight's growling voice made his skin tingle, and for the first time ever, the thought of a cop putting him in cuffs made him writhe and spread his legs wider. He yelped when Dwight pinned his wrists on the pillow, but it broke to a whimper.

"Huh." Dwight licked the back of Noah's neck, and Noah moaned. "Gonna have to remember that."

Noah whimpered until he trembled all over as Dwight licked all the way down his spine and resumed squeezing and kissing his ass. Here and there, he tugged a hair or two with his teeth and made Noah suck air through his teeth. Noah dug his fingers into the bed beneath his pillow when Dwight spread his cheeks.

"Doesn't that look inviting?" Dwight chuckled, and Noah pictured him grinning like he had a whole table full of desserts. Noah braced himself for a couple of fingers, or maybe just his dick. It was hard to tell what guys were into sometimes.

"Hey." Dwight rubbed Noah's lower back. "Relax. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"I don't mind."

Dwight sighed and rubbed his thumbs at the base of Noah's spine. "How old're you again? Twenty-four-ish?"

"Twenty-six." Noah nearly twisted away when Dwight worked both hands under his stomach. "Hey! The fuck you doin'?"

Dwight rested his bald head just below the nape of Noah's neck. His hands felt monstrous and warm, pressed flat again the most vulnerable part of Noah's body. Noah'd seen a couple of people with knife wounds in the gut, one dead, one alive. His abs, what there was of them, jerked and pulled, trying to both protect him and push away the intruder.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, Noah." Dwight spoke at little more than a whisper, like Noah did when he found a stray with a hurt paw or broken tail. "If you still want this, say something. Unless you just want a dick up your ass. I don't play that game."

Noah turned to stare. "I'm not your boyfriend."

"Good. Fuckin' overgrown punk." Dwight rubbed Noah's belly. "I expect a little affection. You'd better be prepared to put up with some, too. I don't do this with just anyone."

"You callin' me a slut?"

"No."

Noah blinked. "Why not?"

Dwight leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Noah went still-Dwight should'a kicked him out as soon as he started getting difficult. He wondered just how much of his shit Dwight was willing to put up with to get laid.

"Go on," Noah said after a few quiet moments, and put his head on his folded arms. Dwight kissed his neck, and Noah tilted his head to give him more skin.

"Mm, that's nice," Dwight said. He kissed and sucked Noah's neck all along his pulse. Noah closed his eyes. He moaned when Dwight bit him.

"You like that, huh?"

"Yeah. Do it again?"

Dwight did, a few times, and even nipped his earlobe around its plug. Noah yelped when Dwight pinched his nipple.

"It's okay! It's okay. I'm not-"

"You surprised me. Fuck, _squeeze._ "

Dwight did until Noah though his nipple would pop off. Noah tipped his head back, panting, and whimpered when Dwight bit his shoulder hard enough to burn.

"Please. . . ," Noah whispered.

"Want me to bite you again?"

Noah shook his head and pressed back with his ass. Dwight's grip on him tightened, so he did it again.

"What do you like?" Noah said, looking back over his shoulder.

"Everything I've seen so far." Dwight pinched both his nipples and sat back, dragging both hands over Noah's skin. "Anything you don't like? Besides knives, which I'm not into."

Noah shrugged. He could get into or put up with pretty much anything, and in a worst case scenario, he could always whine until he got a blowjob. He gasped when Dwight bit his asscheek.

"Gimme a sec," Dwight said against the bite marks, and drew away. Noah whimpered, and yelped when Dwight smacked his ass. "I said gimme a sec."

"Gimme a spanking!"

"You probably deserve one." Dwight landed another hot blow that left Noah clinging to the bed and panting for more. He held on there, listening as Dwight ripped off a piece of plastic wrap.

"Not on my face," Noah whispered. "Please. I don't like it."

"That just means you don't have a death wish."

"Dad woke me up with pillows on my face."

The rustle of plastic paused, and Dwight rested his hand on the small of Noah's back.

"Noah, I promise I'll never deliberately do anything like that to you. Swear on Ha'Shem."

Noah nodded. Something about Dwight's voice felt trustworthy. Dwight squeezed his stinging ass until Noah moaned, then rubbed. . . uh. . . .

"Are you putting Saran Wrap on my ass?"

"Yep." Dwight wiggled it around with a finger, and Noah dug his fingers into the bed as it slipped on a warm layer of lube. Before he recovered enough to loosen his grip, Dwight spread his cheeks, and touched him again. But not with his finger. Or his dick.

"Oh, fuck!" Noah bared his teeth. Nobody'd ever rimmed him before, and the wicked tickle combined with the stretch of Dwight pulling his cheeks apart-never mind the knowledge of _just what was going on_ -had him jamming his dick against the bed.

"Hey, careful." Dwight worked his slippery hand under Noah and closed it around his dick. "One of us might want to use that later."

"Fuck, you're gonna make me come!" With touch, with words, with pure _kindness_. Noah looked back, and got a grin that made him bite his lip and break out into even more of a sweat. Dwight ducked his head, and Noah keened at the novel pressure of a bearded chin sliding up and down his crack on a thin layer of lubed plastic. "Don't stop!"

In the ugly bedside lamp's yellowish light, Dwight looked feral, and more olive-skinned than he really was. He pressed his chin behind Noah's balls and stuck his tongue out for more teasing. Noah clamped both arms over his head and panted. He became more and more aware of his embarrassing moans-noises a virgin would make-but he couldn't help it. Dwight had a tongue like a seasoned lesbian (as Noah could verify, thanks to a good rave and some truly sick E).

"Stop or I'll come!" Noah said before he bit his pillow and willed himself not to hump the bed-not that his body listened. Dwight, pig bastard, just pulled Noah's cheeks wider and wiggled his tongue from side to side.

"Fucker!" was the last thing Noah got out before he set to grinding against the ugly bedspread and focusing on Dwight's chin against his taint and tongue working against his freshness-wrapped ass.

He came, his whole body turning electric and thrusting back on Dwight's tongue. The pillow between his teeth felt like shitty polyester blend, but, oh, fuck, it was fleeting, and Dwight didn't stop. He kept licking, and Noah kept fucking back, zings shooting through his torso and his dick still trying to squirt while his fingers and toes went weak. Noah ground against his mouth when his dick got too sensitive to go on, and he had the fleeting thought that this was what women got when he went down on them.

"Shit, keep goin'," he whispered when Dwight kissed his ass-God, all the times-and wadded up the plastic wrap.

"Yeah, and kill ya?" Dwight rubbed Noah's lower back, then crawled to the side of the bed and reached down to fumble somewhere until he brought up a bottle of scotch. He rubbed a palmful over his lips, then swished some around his mouth and swallowed, before he came back and pulled Noah to his chest, wet spot and all.

"The fuck you doin'?" Noah drew lazy patterns along Dwight's collarbone with his nose. "You're s'posed to fuck me and kick me out."

"Why'd I wanna do that?" Dwight lifted Noah's face with a knuckle under his chin. Noah whimpered against his lips and tongue. The only thing demanding about it, though, was Dwight's hard-on against his thigh.

"You wanna fuck me?" Noah said against Dwight's lips, an arm around his neck.

"Yeah. Thought you'd wanna get some rest, though."

"But you got a-"

"I'm a big boy. I can wait."

#

Noah jerked awake. A haze of sweat clothed his naked body, and the air stank of semen. Oh, God, where was he? Why was he lying on a cheap bedspread? And how much money was waiting for him on the nightstand?

Not again. Not again, not again, not again. He hadn't done this shit in _years._

A mumble caught his panic, and he froze when a large man slung a muscular arm over him. He struggled to remember where he left his pants, and thus his knife, and took the man's wrist to ease him off-

"Noah? Y'kay?"

Noah recognized Feldman's voice-Dwight's voice-through his sleepy slurring, and hugged himself. The dim room looked like a suburban version of an hourly motel, where everything could be washed, or would burn like a tire fire with one misplaced cigarette. Mother _fucker._ Dwight had no idea how close he'd come to a dislocated elbow.

Noah slid free. Dwight let him, but said, awake this time, "What's wrong?"

"Bad dream."

"You wanna cuddle?"

Noah went still. Hell, just hearing Dwight "I Am The Law" Feldman say the word "cuddle" was enough to stop him. He turned over to look at Dwight, who watched him in the gray light breaking over the top of the curtains. If Noah still believed anyone could give a shit, he'd think Dwight was worried about him.

"The hell is wrong with you, dude?" Noah leaned up on his elbow and scratched his head so he wouldn't do something stupid, like take Dwight's hand or snuggle up. "You've seen my rap sheet, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then what am I doin' here?"

Dwight rolled on his back and folded his hands on his chest. "Eh. You're cute and funny, and you're kind of a goofy asshole. I'm not attracted to a lot of people. Figured it was worth a shot."

Noah stared, his lip curling in a sneer. A lot of things he could say went through his head, including, "This is the only way you can get laid?" and, "Can I have a hug?" He finally lowered his head-and caught a glimpse of the alarm clock from the corner of his eye.

"Shit!" When did it get to be three thirty in the morning? Noah crawled down the bed and started groping in the dark for his clothes. He cringed from the bedside lamp's glare.

"Hey! Hey." Dwight sat up and put out a hand as Noah pulled on his jeans. "It's okay. I'm not tryin' to scare-"

"I gotta walk Trayf before he shits on the floor." Noah looked at Dwight, and grabbed his shirt. "Danny's gonna give him away if he does it again-"

"Danny's all sound and fury."

"Bullshit. It's not your fucking dog-"

"Oreet says Trayf's a good boy. If Danny really goes through with it, how 'bout I take him? You can even take care of him for me, no strings attached."

Noah peered through the neck of his T-shirt, his arms caught over his head. Dwight only watched him, sitting on the edge of the bed with a pillow in his lap. Noah remembered himself and yanked his shirt down.

"Yeah, maybe." As much as he had no intentions of giving Trayf to anyone, much less Dwight Feldman, it warmed him inside to hear it, like eating too much vindaloo. Which usually meant he was gonna be sick. He grabbed his sneakers.

"You comin' back later?" Dwight said.

Noah looked back, ready to say no. It died on his tongue at Dwight's hopeful stare and restless fingers. He watched Dwight tap his knee for a couple of seconds, trying to figure out what was going on.

"You lookin' to get laid?"

"Wouldn't say no. I was kinda hoping to take you to breakfast, though. Unless you wanna cook. I'd make you those eggs, but I only know how to fry 'em brown and crunchy."

Noah wrinkled his nose. "How the hell have you managed to live alone?"

"Microwave lasagna and frozen pizza."

"Ew." If there was one thing his life had done right, it'd taught Noah how to cook. "What if I wanna stay home and fix myself an omelet with gruyère or some fancy shit like that?"

Dwight closed his eyes. "Oh, Jesus, that sounds good." He laughed. "Throw in some spinach and bacon?"

"That's gotta be the trayf-est thing I've ever heard anyone say. On Shabbat, too!"

"Never expected you to keep kosher."

"Pfft." Noah put his shoes on without tying them. "Later, oinky."

At home, Noah disabled the security system from outside-a little hack Danny still hadn't caught onto-and crept upstairs to his room. He found the usual rumpled bed and lingering sweet, skunky hint of weed smoked while leaning out his window, but no sign of Trayf, which meant he could only be one other place.

Indeed, when Noah peeked into Oreet's room, Trayf lifted his head from where it rested on her blanketed foot. He thumped his tail against the mattress, but stayed where he was. Really, he was her dog-she'd even named him. ("Are dogs kosher?" Danny said when Noah first brought Trayf home, and Oreet jumped up and down, shouting, "No, he's trayf!") Noah sat on the corner of the bed so as not to disturb them, and scratched Trayf's head around the blue bows tied to his ears.

"You need to go out, funny boy? Yeah, you need to go out," he said when Trayf grinned, front teeth and all, like the dork of a dog he was.

"Noah?" Oreet rubbed her eyes. Noah caught her as she lunged down the bed to hug him. "You busted out of the joint! We need to get you to a safe house."

"Wasn't in jail, squirt." Noah squeezed her, and it felt both right and wrong. "Feldman just gave me a lecture on not flashin' people. It was a stupid thing to do."

"Yeah. I don't want you locked up again." She sat on the bed in front of him. "How long a lecture did you get?"

"Not long. We ended up watching a movie. I fell asleep on his couch."

"Oh. 'Cause you smell like you do after you go on a date-"

"I gotta walk Trayf. Go to bed."

Oreet looked solemn. "I think you should go on another date with Officer Feldman. He's nice, and he laughs a lot when he doesn't have to be scary." She rested her chin in her hand. "He might make you less sad."

"Who says I'm anything?"

Oreet fell quiet, and so did Noah. Trayf rested his chin on Noah's knee and flopped his tail on the My Little Pony sheets. Oreet had a million of the things, though her favorite (and Danny's least favorite) was the one Noah had painted up in fishnets and eyeliner. She might turn out cool yet-

"Danny says that when you go away for more than a couple of days, you're usually in a hospital."

That. Well, she was gonna learn sometime. "Oh. Yeah. Your brother's crazy, squirt. You know Dwight Feldman's not some cure-all knight in shining armor, right?"

"Yeah. But he doesn't suck."

Noah bit his lip before he could correct her and completely destroy her innocence (though Danny had kept her a five-year-old for nearly six years now, and it was about time to destroy some of it). Besides, how the hell was a kid her age supposed to understand the difference between shitty meds that turned his brain to wet cotton, and a joint or some scammed Oxycodone? If he hooked up with a cop, he might as well take another knife to his wrists. Between the shitbags they'd gotten for parents, and Danny and the plank up his ass, the last thing Noah wanted to do was leave Oreet on her own.

"I gotta take Trayf out," he said as he hugged her. She always hugged back, and as usual, it was one of the few things that made him smile without any effort. "Go to sleep, kiddo. I'll leave you the Cocoa Puffs."

" _Yay!_ "

Noah winced at the shriek in his ear, then tucked her in. They'd only really known each other a little under three years-and she would _never_ know what he spent the previous few years doing-but she was already the best person Noah knew. He kissed her forehead, then smudged her with eyeliner to make her giggle, and took Trayf to the backyard to run around for a while.

While Trayf trotted around and sniffed and managed to trip over his back legs, Noah leaned against the side of the house, in the shadows beside Danny's study window.

"Sad, my ass," he said for no-one to hear.

Anxious and panicky, yeah. Twitchy. But that kept him alive. Impulsive. Dangerously impulsive, sometimes, like the time he went train surfing. Two friends lost their heads that night, but he limped away with nothing worse than a hairline fracture. A little bipolar, maybe, which was why he kept getting locked up and put on fucking useless meds. And there was that whole PTSD thing, but Danny was the one who should have been screwed sideways. So why did everything have to be him?

Noah closed his eyes and, despite himself, wished Dwight was there. He was big and warm and safe, and he knew all about Noah's track record, but treated him like a person anyway. It was weird as hell, but kinda nice.

Trayf pawed at Noah's leg and whined. Noah smirked at him.

"You poop where Danny'll step in it? Good boy!"

Noah followed him upstairs, now and then getting battered in the leg with a wagging tail. Trayf, however, walked past Noah's room. Noah called him, but Trayf only looked back and hurried to take his place at the foot of Oreet's bed. Noah stood in her doorway, staring at Trayf, who watched him, thumping his tail.

"The hell, man?" Noah and Trayf always slept together when Noah was home. "You dumping me?"

Trayf chuffed and curled up tight. Oreet muttered something about a robot and turned in her sleep. Her clock read 4:14. Too early to get up, too late to get any sleep.

And Noah didn't really want to be alone.

"You're a fucking idiot, Nori," he said as he slunk downstairs, hands in his pockets. Everyone in juvie had called him that, and he'd long since wished he could stop answering to it without thinking. Stupid kid, stupid name. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He felt better as soon as he set foot outside. A couple of seconds to set the alarm at his hack point, and Noah hauled himself over the fence and into Gloria Layman's backyard. It was a decent shortcut across the neighborhood, and got him to Dwight's place in three minutes instead of ten.

He stopped short of Dwight's patio, with its ugly iron furniture. The kitchen windows shone with all the wattage a whole ceiling of fluorescent bulbs could put forth. He hadn't turned the lights on, though. Noah wiped his sweaty palms on his sides and took a deep breath-

The back door opened, and Dwight leaned out, wearing plaid pants and a "Fuck the Police (We're Hot)" T-shirt. He motioned to Noah with his cup of coffee.

"Get the hell in here. How long's it take a dog to shit, anyway?"

"As long as it takes." Noah shuffled a little closer, feeling like a little kid who should have picked some flowers. "Squirt said I need to go on another date with you."

Dwight lifted his eyebrows. "That was a date?"

"S'what she said."

"Wanna make it a breakfast date?"

Noah grinned. "You sure you know what you're getting into? I'm loco, man."

Dwight grinned back. "I handled the PLO. I think I can handle you."

With a laugh, Noah sauntered inside. Dwight caught him and pulled him into a tight hug.

Noah flinched. An instant stretched like an hour, and Dwight drew back to look into Noah's eyes.

"You'll get there." He squeezed Noah's shoulder. "You're strong. Maybe the strongest person I know."

Noah opened his mouth to argue, but he couldn't find the words. He'd said them a thousand times, but they were gone. It took him a few minutes to realize that, for the first time in his life, he believed it. He _was_ strong. He was worth something to someone, not just Oreet, even if it only came to a movie, some breakfast, and a fucking amazing lay.

Dwight squeaked when Noah kissed him, but he went along with it quickly enough. He grinned when Noah pulled back.

"So," Noah said, folding his arms across his chest with a smirk. "What about that breakfast?"

Notes: Poor Noah. Fuck the modern world!


	5. The Beams of our House are Cedars

According to his sister, Theo "liked his headspace a little too much." According to him, Dee could go fuck herself, and so could everyone else. The occasional quiet Hillel meeting or family gathering aside, being around other people sucked the big one – and Theo knew from big ones.

Phil had, thank God, not gotten sick overnight, even though Vince had sent Theo texts at the rate of approximately one per fifteen minutes about Caleb's gruesome and graphic condition. _tht last batch lkd like the exorcist,_ the last one had read, and Theo could only assume that his brother-in-law had passed out from exhaustion and vomit fumes after that. Thank fuck for small favors and prescription-strength Dramamine, that was all he had to say about that.

 _Phil_. Theo frowned and pulled his earbuds out of his ears, cutting off the flow of death metal from his computer. The kid had been suspiciously quiet for the past hour. In fact, the last peep Theo had heard out of him had been something about throwing a Frisbee in the backyard, but that particular activity usually came with sound effects. "Phil?" Theo stood up and pushed open his window, which looked out on the fence between his and his asshole neighbor's yard. "Phil, you still out there?"

"My Frisbee went on the roof, Uncle Theo!" Phil's voice was _way_ too faint for someone supposedly in the backyard. Shit. "It's okay!"

"Tell me he _isn't_ ," Theo growled at no one in particular, then craned his neck up towards the roof overhang. "Philip, are you on the goddamn _roof_ right now?"

"It's okay! I'm being totally safe." Theo felt his mouth drop open as Phil's head appeared over the edge of the roof. "I'm on my belly, okay? So I'm not standing or anything. And I got a ladder."

"Are you kidding me? How did you get the…" Theo shook his head. This wasn't important enough to bother with until Phil was safely on the ground again. "Fuck that. I don't want to know. You stay where you are and I'll get you down."

"Uncle _Theo_ , come on. I'm not a baby." Phil was starting to whine even worse than he had last night, which definitely didn't help his case. "I can get down myself."

"Like hell you will!" Theo shouted. His cheeks were heating up, just like they always did when he was severely pissed off. "You'll move over my dead –"

It happened so fast that Theo barely saw him. Phil was a blur of flailing limbs and a head (oh, God, a vulnerable head that could crack and then Dinah would commit fratricide for sure) streaking past his window and landing on his one fungus-ridden rosebush with a crunch that could have split dimensions.

Theo was halfway through the window before the screaming started. By the time it reached a crescendo, he had fallen out the rest of the way, scraped his right side against the side of the house, done battle with the rosebush, and inwardly thanked God that he worked on the first floor at least five times. "Fuck, Phil." He picked up his nephew and patted the back of his neck, hoping against hope that that didn't do any more damage. "I'm taking you to the hospital, okay?"

" _It HURTS!_ " Phil howled. "It hurts it hurts it _HURTS!_ " He shuddered in Theo's arms, shaking harder with every escalation in volume.

"What hurts? Tell me, Phil. What hurts?" He couldn't run with an armful of screaming kid, so he power-walked as smoothly as he could to where his car sat in the driveway.

"Elbow…" Phil hid his face in Theo's shoulder. It was ominously, and disgustingly, wet, and Theo didn't hold out much hope for his favorite shirt. "I don't _wanna_ go to the hospital!"

Not that Theo really wanted to take him, either, but by the time he could get an ambulance to the house, Phil probably would have passed out from the pain already. The paramedics would probably be a little too aggressive with the treatments and CPR if that happened. Broken ribs were the last complication he wanted to have to explain to his sister, on top of everything else. "Tough shit, Philly. Think you broke something. God knows I can't set it."

Theo wrapped his few available fingers around the car-door handle and pulled it open, setting Phil down in the backseat as gently as he could and covering him with a blanket. He buckled the middle belt awkwardly over Phil's abdomen, too, just to make sure his nephew wouldn't be completely eviscerated if some dickbag rear-ended them again. He'd barely gotten the dents out from last time, and he had more precious cargo now than a box of old swords.

Phil whimpered as Theo backed out of the driveway, but was uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the drive to the hospital. That was even more worrying than the blood slowly staining his backseat, because while Phil had bled in his car before, he rarely cried.

As soon as he had the car parked, probably illegally, Theo picked Phil back up and all but ran to the hospital's emergency entrance. "You're gonna be okay, Phil. You believe me?"

"No." Phil wasn't crying anymore, but he was shivering, and that was even scarier than when he had been crying loudly enough to burst some eardrums. Even though the scrapes on his arms and legs had started to crust over, Theo couldn't even look at his arm without wanting to puke his guts up. "Don't tell Mom, Uncle Theo."

"What, that you were on the roof?" Theo shook his head, looked around the ER, and went to what looked like some kind of information desk. "Buddy, I think she'll figure that out herself." He turned his highest-watt glare onto the receptionist. "Hey, could we get some fuckin' help? I'm pretty sure my nephew broke something."

She blinked at him. "How was he injured?" Her voice was thick with a Boston accent.

"Little moron fell off the roof. Phil, don't give me that look." Phil opened his mouth, then – wisely – shut it.

"Is he able to move his limbs?" the receptionist asked.

Shit. He should've at least tried to figure that out before marching in here with his guns blazing. "Phil, can you walk?"

Phil wiped his eyes. "I think so. My arm just hurts, not my legs." He weakly kicked out an ankle, earning a grunt from Theo when a dirty sneaker hit him in the stomach.

"No sign of head trauma or chest pain?"

Theo shook his head. "Nah. If he had a head injury, I'd know it. He was screaming earlier and now he won't shut up." And if _he_ didn't stop it with the goddamn nervous chatter, he was going to be called onto the rug for suspected child abuse or whatever before they even gave Phil an X-ray. He fucking _hated_ having to deal with people.

"Okay. Have a seat, sir, and someone will examine him as soon as possible."

Theo did as he was told, carrying Phil to the waiting area near the emergency desk and setting him down on his back across three seats. "How long is this gonna take, Uncle Theo?" Phil asked.

"F - damn if I know." Theo patted Phil on his un-injured elbow. "I haven't been to a hospital in ages. Hold that thought." He grabbed an intake form on a clipboard from the front desk and filled it out, deliberately keeping his eyes off the receptionist while he wrote. Good thing his hair covered his face if he tilted his head forward.

"Mom said you went to the hospital once," Phil commented, once Theo had finished the insurance shit and returned to their seats.

"Yeah? What'd she say?" Where the fuck was the vending machine around here? Theo desperately needed some Red Bull.

"Yeah. They put a finger up your butt." Phil snickered.

"Shut up, Philly. No one asked you to hurt yourself." Theo patted Phil on the head and zoned out of his nephew's chatter, instead focusing on the crappy kids' program playing on TV mounted on a nearby wall. It was a useful skill to cultivate when you had nephews.

He figured it took about an hour and a half of staring at Foster's Home for Weird-Looking Blobs and the plaster stains on the walls before someone finally got around to examining Phil. "Philip?" A nurse poked his head out of a doorway and glanced down at his clipboard. "Is there a Philip – oh, Jesus."

Fuck. Theo knew that accent. And that face. "Hi, Baggage," he said, waving. "You remember my nephew from yesterday."

Baggage sighed. "Well, I'm the only nurse free right now. Let's try to make this as painless as possible."

"Not possible. Phil? Buddy?" Theo looked down, only to see that his nephew had fallen asleep. "Phil?" He tapped Phil's chin until his eyes opened. "Time to wake up. Douche-Baggage needs to make sure you're not completely broken."

"For the hundredth time," Baggage said, rolling his eyes, "that's _Baggins_ , and you're tremendously lucky that certain laws exist to protect you in my workplace." He looked at Phil, and his voice changed from its snappy tone to a much softer one. "What happened, Philip?"

"I fell off the roof." Phil rubbed his eyes with his uninjured forearm. "You're not gonna give me a shot, are you?"

"Let's just give you a bit of an exam for now, and then see what's wrong before we start making any snap judgments, all right?" Baggage pointed his thumb towards one of the cubicles ringing the waiting room. "You can walk, yes?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Phil asked as he stood up. " _Yeah_ , I can walk!"

Theo would have reprimanded him, but quite frankly, he thought Baggage needed a little rudeness spice in the stew of his everyday routine. Boring assholes tended to benefit from the patented Derensky Glare. Not that anyone besides the people he ran into got the full brunt of it – Dee was too chickenshit to unleash hers, and his brother Forrest had been dead for twenty years.

Baggage certainly seemed discomfited under his laser stare as he situated Phil on the exam table and lifted his forearm. "How did this happen?" he asked.

"I was playing on the roof," Phil said, either happily oblivious or trying to get Theo into deep shit. The grin on his face could have gone either way. "I wasn't supposed to, and then Uncle Theo yelled at me to get off and I got really surprised, so I fell off instead."

"You forgot the part where I jumped out the window after you and got attacked by a rosebush," Theo interjected, wiggling the more scratched-up of his hands.

Baggage stared. "You've bled into your shirt! How did you not notice that?"

"Too busy looking after the kid," Theo said. Maybe that would get him enough brownie points that everyone would forget to ask what he'd been doing when Phil climbed up onto the roof in the first place. He had to admit that Baggage was right when he took a look at his arm, though – his shirt was ruined for sure, and he wasn't looking forward to pulling that scab away from his copious body hair. _Fuck_ , and this was his favorite long-sleeved tee, not that Phil had taken that into consideration before snotting all over it earlier.

Baggage finished his exam and set Phil's arm back down. "We'll have to take X-rays to make sure," he said, "but it looks like you may have fractured your elbow. Fortunately, I don't think there's any bone displacement or nerve damage."

 _Thank God_ , Theo thought, but as usual, Phil was only interested in the flashy stuff. "Does that mean I get a cast?"

Baggage shook his head. "A sling is more likely, I'm afraid," he said, "but if I were you, I'd be grateful that you haven't any neuropathy." He cleared his throat. "Sorry, that's medical-speak for tingling. It means you've not got any nerve damage, and that can be long-lasting in someone your age, especially around the growth plates."

"Oh." Phil blinked, clearly disappointed about the cast. "That's…good?"

"Yes, it's good." Baggage smiled at him, and now it was Theo's turn to blink. The guy had a nice smile, and dimples, too. Dammit. "I don't believe the X-ray techs are too backed up this morning, so I'll have someone take you over for a scan."

"X-rays are cool," Phil said, perking up. Theo couldn't blame him; ionizing radiation _was_ pretty cool. He'd had to have a chest X-ray once as a kid, and unless he was mistaken, the prints were still floating around his house somewhere.

"I need to go call your dad, Philly," he told his nephew. "Yeah, I know you don't want your parents to know, but they're going to get pretty suspicious if you come home with a mysterious sling. Will you be okay by yourself?"

" _Yeah_ ," Phil said, his tone dripping with pre-teen condescension that Theo even had to ask. "I'm _eleven_."

"Good. I'll talk to you later, then, champ." Theo clapped him on the shoulder and went out into the atrium, dialing Vince's cell number as he went. It was noon; with any luck, Dee would still be asleep and he wouldn't have to face her wrath for a while.

"Yo," Vince said when he picked up. "What's up, Theo?"

Theo took a deep breath. Vince wasn't nearly as scary as Dee, but he'd never had to face his brother-in-law after one of his sons got injured on Theo's watch. For all he knew, Vince would turn into a fire-breathing dragon right about now, and he wasn't sure whether that would be literal or metaphorical, either. "Sorry to bother you, Vince, but I'm at the hospital. Phil broke his elbow."

"Oh my _God_ , what happened?"

"The little shit –" and some soccer mom glared daggers at Theo over the back of the nearest seat; he ignored her – "was climbing on my roof and he fell off when I yelled at him."

There was a pause. "You are _so_ freaking lucky Dee is on the can," Vince said, "or she'd kick your ass. Is he feeling okay? I mean, are we talking bone pieces pokin' out of the skin, or just weird lumpy stuff on his arm?"

"You need to stop watching Grey's Anatomy," Theo told him. Vince lived for TV dramas. Glorified soap operas, in Theo's opinion. "No, he's fine. The nurse said it's probably not – Jesus fuckin' _Lipschitz_ , I forgot. You're never gonna believe who examined him."

"Dr. Kevorkian?"

"I wish. No, it's that clueless goy from last night. The nurse."

Vince cackled. "Oh, _man!_ I knew you had the hots for him! Did he give you those _lingering looks_ and tell you that you could cry on his shoulder if you need to?"

"The fuck, Vincenzo?" Theo took his phone away from his ear and stared at it for a moment, wondering what kind of crack Vince was smoking and if he could possibly get a contact high from a phone call. "He manhandled Phil's arm and rolled his eyes at me. What the hell gave you that idea?"

"You only save your Yiddish insults for people you want to bang," Vince explained.

" _Forget it_ , Vince." Theo would have flipped him off, but it was kind of hard to do that to a voice, and he didn't want to piss off the soccer mom any more than he already had. "Anyway, Phil went to get X-rays and I'm stuck in the waiting room. I'm leavin' it to you to tell Dee what happened."

"That won't be for a while. Caleb's contagious, and she just pooped her body weight _this morning_. Wild, huh?"

Theo winced. "TMI. Truly. I don't need to hear about the inner workings of my sister's colon."

"Neither did I. Cheers, dude." He could practically see Vince doing a mock-salute off the wrong part of his forehead. "Call me when you find out more, okay? And let Philly talk to me if he wants."

"Will do," Theo said. "And for the record, you're a _ferkakte gonif_ , but I don't want to bang you, either." With that, he hung up and stashed his phone in his jeans pocket, then went to sprawl out over a couple of seriously uncomfortable waiting-room chairs.

He didn't mean to fall asleep, but it must have happened, because the next thing he saw was Baggage's face looming over him. "If you'll come with me, please, _Doctor_ Derensky," he said in the fussiest voice Theo had heard out of him yet.

"Huh?" Theo said, and extricated himself from his chair nest. "Are Phil's X-rays done?"

"Yes, yes." Baggage led him back to the cubicle, where Phil was waiting, this time with his injured arm held in a sling against his chest. "It's broken, but Dr. Chaudhuri fixed him up in a jiffy. You'll want to come back in four weeks to begin physical therapy, since there'll be some atrophy. And _you_ ," he said, fixing his eyes on Phil, "aren't to take that arm out of the sling for any reason except to have a shower."

"Okay!" Phil said, even more cheerful than he'd been earlier. Theo sincerely hoped that that was from some kind of pain med and not from telling Embarrassing Uncle Theo stories, as was Phil's habit. He'd inherited that particular tendency from his father, to whom even Dee referred as the Chronic Oversharer.

However, it wasn't Theo's lucky day. "Your nephew told me something very interesting," Baggage said, turning to him. Theo did _not_ like the gleam in his eye. "Is it true you've gone a decade without vaccinations?"

"They mat my pelt," Theo grumbled, and folded his arms. This wasn't any of Baggage's business.

"Well, as a medical professional, I'd strongly advise you to have them," Baggage said, affecting a knowledgeable air that was horribly familiar from Theo's time around the religion professors. "Otherwise, you run the risk of all sorts of horrible diseases, and your nephews' health will likely suffer for it."

One worried puppy-eyes look from Phil, and Theo knew he was a goner.

And one hour, an ass that felt like a pincushion, and a yelled invitation from his nephew to visit Hillel later, he was beginning to seriously regret taking Phil to the hospital at all.

See if he did that when the kid came down with the fucking bubonic plague. Just see if he would. At least then, he wouldn't have to deal with a British nurse who had a hypodermic needle and way too much damn time on his hands.

 **Notes:**

"Ferkakte gonif" is Yiddish for a fucking shyster.


	6. That Washes the Weary Mud Away

"Hey, Mr. Baggage!" the blond boy shouted. "Mr. Baggage, over here! We got challah already!"

What had he been _thinking_ , accepting this ill-got invitation? Bill had no idea. Philip's uncle had certainly glared daggers at the poor boy for even broaching the subject, his previous bellows about how a few vaccination boosters were the worst thing in his life notwithstanding.

Bill let out a sigh and sat down at the scratched, vinyl-topped table with Philip, his parents, and his brother. Who was he trying to fool? Uncle or no, he would have come anyway. He'd dealt with arseholes in his life for less of a payoff than not having to cook after a long shift, and there was no guarantee the arsehole was even going to show up. Arse – and he needed to stop that train of thought this instant. "How does your arm feel, then?" he asked with a smile.

"Way, _way_ better," Philip said, and raised his arm, which was bound up in a bog-standard blue sling. "Caleb's jealous."

"I am not," the aforementioned brother muttered towards the tabletop, adding " _douchebag_ " in a whisper.

"Hey." The boys' mother – what was her name? Del, Dee, something short and pleasant – held up one finger. "How many times did I say it, Caleb? How many? Tell me."

"Five times," Caleb said, his voice heavy with the singsong of a child seeing how far he could push the parent scolding him. "I know, Mom." He scooted his chair, which squeaked in protest, across the flecked linoleum floor from his mother's side to Bill's. "I'm sorry, Mr. Baggage. I know it's not cool to hurt yourself."

"Oh, that's all right," Bill assured him. Caleb's eyes were brown, not blue like his uncle's, and his hair was curlier, but it seemed that Bill couldn't resist that pleading look from a Derensky of any age or surname. "I'm off-shift, Caleb, don't worry. I won't give you a mark off in your health class."

"It's okay," Caleb said. "I don't take health class until year after next."

"Oh. Er." Bill had rather meant that as a joke, but what was one supposed to do when a child took those things seriously? "Well, let's hope they don't neglect the sex education."

Caleb's eyes widened, Philip burst into laughter, and Bill winced. As a few unpleasant encounters with patients' parents had taught him, he needed to suss out politics _before_ running his mouth like that. The East Coast this might have been, but England it was not. "God, sorry, I forgot myself," he said to the boys' parents. "And please pardon me, but I've forgotten your names as well."

"I'm Vince," said the blond man, patting Bill's hand across the table. "That's Dinah. And don't worry about it – they totally hear worse from their uncle." He scratched at the short stubble on his chin and said, apropos of absolutely nothing, "God, I need a shave."

"I'm kind of surprised you forgot," Dinah said with a puzzled frown in Bill's direction. "Didn't you have to deal with our insurance?"

"Wait, I thought you took care of that," Vince interjected.

"No, Vincenzo, I was on the _can_ all day. Sh- _oot_ ," Dinah said, giving her sons – occupied in whispering to each other – a quick glance even as her voice rose, "did we forget to _pay?_ Oh, _God_."

"Your brother paid, actually. Cash," Bill said hastily. His heart was beginning to go into Screaming Relatives mode. "So you won't be getting a bill. Or a call about the bill."

Dinah's mouth opened once, then closed. "Oh." She looked at Vince in a way that Bill couldn't quite decode. "Okay. Yeah, that explains it." Then, sighing, she added, "Look, Mr. Baggins, I swear, my brother's not some kind of drug runner – "

"EW!" Caleb shrieked, and shot up out of his seat just as the man in front began his speech, or whatever it was he was saying. Bill had always done well in languages, but the Romance ones were more intelligible to him than Hebrew was. "Mom, Phil said what sex ed is!"

Philip smirked. "Isn't it so gross?"

"Caleb, sit _down!_ " Dinah yanked Caleb forcibly into his chair by the arm. "Go ahead, Omer," she called. "My sons are being little _mamzerim_. Ignore them, please." That got a laugh, which was presumably the result she wanted. At any rate, Omer looked mollified, and began chanting again.

"Mom, it's _totally_ gross," Caleb protested in a whisper. "I don't ever wanna put my thingy in someone else!"

"No one says you have to, but you can't do that again," Dinah said. "Caleb, look at me. Do you understand? No more yelling at Hillel. Especially not that kind of stuff." She shook her head. "God, Vince, he's a worse loudmouth than Dane. That has to be from your side."

"Er…are you talking about Dane Cook?" Bill asked. "I'd have to agree with you there." He'd had a few patients who insisted on watching Comedy Central through their recovery, which was how he'd become acquainted with some comedians against his will.

"No, Dane's my cousin. Well, second cousin," Dinah said. "He lives in Chicago, which is good, because he and Theo can't stand each other. Well, I mean…he's perfectly nice, but you know Theo. He gets mad about something and he _never_ lets it go."

"Mr. Baggage?" Caleb interrupted, pulling on Bill's arm. "You're a nurse, right? Can you tell Phil that I don't have to put it in someone else if I don't want to?"

"Of course you don't have to put it in," Bill said. Oh, bugger all, he could feel his cheeks flaming up. "But you'll learn how to use protection in health class, in case you ever want to someday."

"What's protection?" Of course that was the question for which Caleb forgot his indoor voice. This time, though, Omer didn't even pause, and Bill couldn't have been more relieved.

It was terribly unfortunate that Theodor Derensky, erstwhile uncle, also chose that moment to enter the social hall. Well, Bill's evening was certainly looking down from here on out. "Sorry I'm late, Dee," Theodor said, and slammed his briefcase down on the flimsy collapsible table hard enough to make his nephews' empty plates jump. "This asshole got in a fender-bender near the exit. Had to take the side streets."

"Did you get lost again, Uncle Theo?" Phil asked. Cheeky of him, in Bill's opinion, when that briefcase sounded heavy enough to contain anything and his uncle was clearly in a foul mood.

The arsehole's sigh was louder than his sister's. "You know it, buddy. God, I'm hungry. Did Omer finish yet?"

"Well, he's giving you the death glare, so probably soon," Vince said. "I'm hungry, too." He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his belly with the palm of one hand. "I think Bram tried to tell me that Benny's doing traditional stuff tonight. That or he wants to eat me, not sure which."

"Schnitzel and farfel?" Theodor said. Vince nodded. " _Hell_ yeah." He took off his blazer (which, Bill was more than a bit amused to note, did have suede patches on the elbows) and stretched his arms over his head. "I haven't eaten since – ah, Jesus F. Lipschitz, you actually came." He looked at Bill and rolled his eyes.

"I beg your _pardon_ ," Bill said in his most acerbic tone, "but I hardly think that's any of your business."

This time, Dinah and Vince were the ones to laugh, not the boys. Theodor just scowled. Philip and Caleb, thank goodness, looked befuddled enough that Bill could tell they didn't understand the double entendre. "Good one," Dinah said. "Theo, if you don't have anything nice to say, go hang out with Danny Reisberg."

"I'll do no such thing." Theodor put a hand on his chest. "You wound me, Dee. I am not that fussy."

"Mom? Dad? Uncle Theo?" Phil interrupted. "It's food time."

"We missed the _motzi?_ " Vince craned his long neck towards the serving tables, where people were indeed congregating with plates. "Go on up, you guys. You know you don't have to wait for us."

"Yeah, but it's your favorite and Benny's gonna eat it if I don't tell you," Philip said, then – mission completed – bolted to the food with his brother.

"Well," said Vince, "you heard him. Want to go stuff ourselves?"

"God, yes," Theodor answered, and for the first time that day, Bill thoroughly agreed with him. En masse, the adults of their table stood up and went to scrounge themselves up some supper.

Bill wasn't nearly so gauche as to comment on anyone's beard in the food line this time (he'd berated himself for that, certainly), but he made sure to load up. From the appreciative words of the people around him, he gathered that the delicious-smelling chicken cutlets were schnitzel, the oniony pasta-like stuff was farfel, and the crusty dish that every child in the place kept attacking was kugel. Apple cinnamon, in fact, as he found out when he took a bite.

"You're Benny, yes?" he asked the fat man standing proprietarily behind the steaming foil dishes. "Did you cook all of this yourself? You have talent!"

"Oh, yes, I am," Benny said, beaming at him. He had a pleasant North Irish accent that seemed to fit his broad smile and big body. "Benjamin Budin, at your service, and feel free to laugh at the film title. I hear you're the one who saved Philly Adler-Derensky's arm."

"How do you know that?"

"That kid can't keep a secret." Benny leaned in and winked, then lowered his voice. "Neither can his parents, if y'want the truth. Vince told my brother the day it happened, and Bo told me."

"Sorry, who's Bo? I've only been here once before."

"'Course, I forgot. My brother, Boaz. Bo!" Benny shouted, and a dark-haired man with a sort of glorified ushanka on his head and a truly unforgettable mustache looked up from a table across the room. Unforgettable, of course, in that Bill now remembered seeing it before. "Come say hi to Bill over here!"

"Yeah, all right." Boaz stuffed a bite of bread in his mouth and sauntered over, holding out a hand to Bill. "Hello," he said, and smiled Benny's smile. "Hey, you look familiar. Did me'n my cousin grace y' with our presence at the hospital?"

"Yes, once." Bill felt the corners of his mouth quirk up. Boaz had a certain hilarious way with words. "If your cousin's the one with the scar. I saw him here last week and nearly scared the daylights out of myself."

"Aye, sorry about that. Sometimes, Bram has an episode." Boaz tapped the side of his head. "Things're a bit scrambled upstairs, see?"

"Goodness. Do you mind if I ask what happened to him?"

"Not at all, not at all," Boaz said cheerfully, and popped a piece of kugel into his mouth. Benny hit his hand with a wooden spoon, and he yelped. "Oi, quit that! Anyway, it was a police accident back in Ireland. Some copper cracked him one right in the forehead, _bam_." He made a fist and lightly demonstrated on himself. "Couldn't speak a thing but Hebrew afterwards. Benny'n me are the only ones in the family who can understand him. Dad sure didn't remember Hebrew school!"

"Could you, er, repeat what you said about things upstairs?" Bill asked slowly. He'd never heard a relative of someone with a mental issue express themselves quite so colorfully on the subject, although he was sure that his fellow nurses on the neuro ward could have topped that.

"Oh, the scrambled bit?" Boaz's smile widened and he shook his head. "Looks like I just did. Bram!" he shouted. "You'd say that's true, yeah?"

Bram replied with something incomprehensible and a gesture that was rather universal in the English-speaking world. "Ah, Bram, that's why I love ye," Boaz said in a fond tone. "I tease," he added as he turned back to Bill, "but he's sharp as always. Just not in a language people 'round here can really understand."

"I assume that I could hazard a guess at what he was telling you to do to yourself," Bill said. Daniel Reisberg looked over with a paternal sort of glare and shushed him. "Sorry, I'll lower the volume."

"Think nothin' of it." Boaz waved a dismissive hand. "And yeah, Bram told me he's bogartin' the remote tonight and I can't do a thing about it. His method of revenge."

"Bill," Benny said, "I forgot to ask, but would you give us the details on savin' Phil's life?"

"I hardly even saved his _arm!_ " Bill exclaimed. It looked like the gossip chain was just as twisted for Jewish communities as for massive small-town English families. "He broke his _elbow_. His life was never in any danger."

On instinct, he paused and sucked in a breath, then reconsidered his usual method of saying a disclaimer. These were not, he suspected, people who would send a hue and cry after him for a minor HIPAA violation, and they all seemed to know the details anyway.

"Oh." Benny pouted out his lower lip. "I love a good rescue story."

Well, the more luridly embellished details, at that.

"That would be why you're addicted to Grey's Anatomy, Ben-Ben," Boaz said. Benny raised his wooden spoon again, and Boaz ducked. "Quit swingin' at me!" he said from under the protective cover of one upraised arm.

"I'm not. Only makin' a point." Benny put the spoon down and folded his arms; Bill let himself momentarily marvel at how quickly Benny's round face could go from utterly riled up to completely placid. "It's all right if you didn't save his life. I made ye some extra dessert anyway."

"Wait, you did?" Bill said, and as if on cue, his stomach gurgled. "You didn't have to do that!"

Benny shook his head and clapped Bill hard on the back. "Philly's one of ours, and his uncle can be a right pain up the arse. You deserve dessert." He produced a paper plate of some sort of chocolate-covered thing, covered in bright red Saran wrap. "I made chocolate babka!"

"It looks _delicious_ ," Bill said. "Is it all right if I take that with me for later?"

"No reason why not."

"Good. If I don't eat now, I'm going to faint." Bill picked up his plate, satisfied himself that it was still warm, and took Benny's plate in his other hand. "Thank you for the introduction, Benny." Hm. It would be rude to just go sit down without tasting this wonderful-looking dessert, wouldn't it? It would. Bill peeled off the plastic wrap and put a piece of the babka into his mouth.

"Oh, _bugger,_ " he moaned, feeling his eyes close. The dessert was far gooier than it looked, and he was quite sure that his lips were covered in chocolate. No matter. This stuff was heaven – pastry and chocolate and cinnamon, almost better than getting a lone doughnut at the end of a long shift (and that was hard to top). "All right, Benny," he said once he'd swallowed, "I need to get your number and ring you for the recipe. Possibly all your recipes."

"Absolutely!" Benny said. "You said you're hungry, right?" Bill nodded. "All right, come talk to me next Hillel. We'll find a time to cook together."

"That sounds amazing," Bill answered, and gave Benny a last friendly nod, then went back to the table with his spoils.

"You were up there a while," Theodor commented through a mouthful as soon as Bill sat down.

"I happen to like the Budin family," Bill said. "Where did Caleb go?" The space next to his was empty.

"He went over to bug Oreet," Vince answered.

"Oreet?" Bill picked up his fork and started in on the farfel.

"The Reisbergs' kid sister," Dinah explained. "You know the one who showed everyone his ass last week? That's Noah. He's…kind of trouble."

Bill looked over to where the Reisbergs were sitting. Noah was seated between his brother and his sister, who didn't look terribly happy at Caleb. From the look of it, the boy was really talking _at_ her more than _to_ her. "Well, he's not in prison, at least."

"Close thing," Dinah said, and shrugged. "Dwight took him home instead. Dwight Feldman," she said, just as Bill started to open his mouth. "Sitting over there. He's a cop, and his brother is Brian."

Even sitting down, Dwight was clearly considerably taller than his brother, who had fluffy white hair, an equally fluffy white beard, and the look of an overgrown garden gnome. "You said they're brothers?" Bill said. "Brian looks at least sixty."

"Yeah, he doesn't age well," Vince agreed. "More like fifty, I think. Dwight's forty. He and Theo like to bitch about gray hair."

"Fuck off, Vince," Theodor retorted through an even larger mouthful.

"I suppose Dwight is the lucky one in that scenario," Bill said. The man was completely bald; Bill's best guess would be either recent cancer, which didn't look likely given his strong physique, or a shave job to cover up the shame of a receding hairline. Dwight did look frightening enough to possibly want to avoid that sort of embarrassment.

"Dwight's lucky, all right," Theo said, smirking, and that started a conversation about some incident that Bill absolutely could not follow. Well, his head was already spinning from his day at work, so it was best not to try. Instead, he let himself lapse into a semi-doze while he ate and looked around while the conversation turned into a buzz around him.

He finished his farfel, chewed on his schnitzel – overcooked a bit, but utterly delicious – and turned his eyes to the dinner theatre going on at the Reisbergs' table. Oreet, in an impressive display of control for a child of her age, managed to only look more and more annoyed at Caleb, who had situated himself between her and Daniel. At least, until Caleb touched her shoulder.

"HEY!" Oreet bellowed, slamming her colored pencils down and standing up so fast that Caleb looked terrified. Everyone in the room went quiet. "I'm _DRAWIN'_ here!"

"Okay," Caleb said, and scarpered.

Bill had to commend Oreet; that was the second-thickest Boston accent he'd heard for a while, at least this side of any given gaggle of stevedores. The thickest, of course, was coming out of the mouth of the smirking man next to him, even as the snickers in the social hall turned back to normal chatter. "Caley," Theodor told his nephew, "that was completely your fault."

Caleb put his head down on his arms. "I just wanted to say _hi_ ," he said in a voice that sounded muffled, but thankfully not near tears.

"That was 'hi' fifteen minutes ago. Then you were just on vacation."

"Family Guy!" Vince whooped. He held out his hand for Theo to slap, which Theo did. "I've trained you well."

"As if. I started watchin' that before you did."

Bill rolled his eyes. _Ridiculous_. The only thing that could be done to combat such immaturity was to eat dessert, which luckily, he had right in front of him. He opened up Benny's plate again and took out a larger piece of babka, which he promised himself he would savor and then immediately proceeded to shove into his mouth anyway. His stomach was such a liar.

He polished off the piece of babka, took another, ate that, and was going to take a third when he saw how covered in chocolate his fingers were. Theodor and both of his nephews were staring, too, Bill noticed, and he felt his face flush. How uncouth did he look to them?"

"Sorry," he said, and cleared his throat. His voice was clogged with pastry eaten far too fast. "I ought to have shared. Dessert?" He pushed the plate towards the center of the table.

"Awesome!" Phil grabbed for a piece, only to be stopped by his uncle's fingers clamping onto his wrist.

"Knock it off, Philly," Theodor said. "That's Baggage's babka. You patch up your own elbow, _then_ Benny'll make you some."

" _Baggins!_ " Bill corrected. Theodor ignored him.

"But he _said_ it's okay," Caleb whined. "And you said he poked you in the butt, so we should get his babka! It's punishment damages."

" _Punitive_ damages," Theodor said, and grimaced. Bill's cheeks flamed even hotter as he suddenly, graphically recalled the sight of the man's round arse jutting up at him from his prone position on the exam table. In an instant, Bill had an erection, never mind that he'd tried to forget that arse since wanking off three times last Saturday night.

No. No, those sorts of thoughts were unwelcome in Bill's head. For all he knew, Theodor considered himself Bill's patient now, the comment about his body at last week's Hillel notwithstanding. Hospitals had a way of changing people's perceptions, and it was incredibly unethical to make advances towards a patient. Bill shook his head to get rid of the intrusive thoughts and put his fingers in his mouth, sucking the chocolate off as politely as he could.

"Hey." There was a finger poking his shoulder. Bill looked over to find Theodor very much in his personal space, bright blue eyes deep, intense, and very dilated. They were also fixed on Bill's wet fingers to a rather alarming degree. "I haven't shown you where the bathroom is, right? I gotta do that."

The _bathroom?_ "Nnnno," Bill said slowly. "No, I suppose you'd best show me, hadn't you?"

Theodor stood up immediately, nearly knocking his plate over. "Okay, I'm showin' Baggage the bathroom. Don't finish his dessert. You either, Vince."

"Go to hell, Theo," Vince said cheerfully.

"Already there, Vincenzo," Theodor answered. He motioned to Bill with a crooked finger, and Bill followed. His heart was pounding, and his face was beginning to sweat. Was he about to be beaten? Had he said something offensive?

Theodor led Bill out the door of the social hall, down a narrow hallway, past a couple of rooms that looked like offices, and between two columns of file cabinets to a door with a handwritten sign on it that said "PEE ROOM." Bill briefly wondered if Phil or Caleb had made it, and then he couldn't think at all for Theodor pressing him up against the wall and kissing him hard.

Bill's eyes closed and he moaned deeply, pushing his hips forward so that his erection pressed against the leg of Theodor's dress trousers. He set to thrusting his hips and kissed Theodor with his mouth open, their tongues touching with every bruising smack of their lips. Theodor's lips were chapped and full; they were warm on Bill's mouth, and his beard rubbed and scratched against every bit of skin it touched.

He couldn't resist reaching around and grabbing Theodor's arse, which elicited a gasp from its owner, followed by a groan that made Bill even harder. From the feel of it, Theodor wasn't wearing any underwear, or if he was, it was thin and tight. _God_ , that was a fucking turn-on. Bill cupped his arse and squeezed the cheeks, careful even in his state of arousal to avoid the places where he'd given Theodor his vaccinations.

Theodor's hands came to rest on Bill's hips and squeezed in much the same way Bill was doing. Between kisses, the sneaking suspicion came into Bill's mind that if his arse weren't resting against the plaster wall, Theodor's hands would be on that instead, from how enthusiastically he was getting squeezed.

Their lips broke apart, and Theodor rested his forehead against Bill's, his lips moving as he spoke into Bill's cheek. Bill would swear that he could feel the vibrations of that deep voice all the way into his prick. "Can I take you home?"

"To yours," Bill said, short of breath, "or mine, Doctor Derensky?"

"Mine." Theodor bit Bill's chin. "Call me Theo."

"Theo," Bill repeated. Theodor - _Theo's_ eyes crinkled up at the corners, which made them look even bluer. "I'd –" And then he remembered how he'd gotten here in the first place. " _Bugger!_ " he said, and then added when Theo's face fell, "I've no idea what I'm going to do with my car."

"Where do you live?" Theo asked.

"I've got a flat on Burlington."

"Easy fix," Theo said. "Danny lives right by there. You got your keys on you?" Bill nodded and dug them out of the pocket of his scrubs. "Either he or Noah can run your car home. Or I can bring you back tomorrow to get it."

"He's trustworthy?" Bill said.

"God, yeah. I've known him for years. He's my lawyer, actually."

"Wait, _your_ lawyer? What do you need a lawyer for?" Bill asked. First Dinah's comment about how Theo definitely wasn't a drug runner, and now he had a lawyer?

"Tax stuff," Theo said, and grinned. "I'm fuckin' terrible at math."

"Ah. No, I understand." Bill looked down at his keys, jingling them a bit in his palm. Really, how likely was it that Theo was seducing him for the express purpose of cooking up a plot to send his car to a chop shop? He knew the answer already, of course: not bloody likely at all. "All right, you can give him my keys. I'd rather not get up early."

Theo chewed on his bottom lip for a few seconds, the sight of which made Bill have to wipe the sweat off his forehead and concentrate on not coming in his trousers. "You want me to go make excuses to everyone?" he asked. "You do _not_ want to deal with those assholes when they're smug. I'll, um…I don't know, tell them you got Dee's massive diarrhea or something."

"That was last week," Bill pointed out. "They'll hardly believe it now."

"Trust me, they don't know jack about medicine. I'll take care of it." Theo held out a big hand. "Keys?"

"Yeah, here." Bill dropped them into Theo's palm. "My car is the dark green Camry."

Theo took them and shoved them into a pocket of his blazer. "Be right back," he said, and then his hands were cupping Bill's face, huge and warm and dry against his cheeks, and his lips were on Bill's again, open, tender, wet.

"God, _no_ ," Bill blurted out when Theo broke away, his eyes still closed. "Don't go, oh, _fuck_."

Theo's gulp was audible, if not visible. "Jesus F., now I don't want to, either," he said in a voice gone deeper and huskier than Bill had ever heard it. "I'll, uh. I'll be right back before I embarrass myself."

"Right, yeah," Bill whispered, but judging by the sound of the fast, heavy footsteps going back down the hall, Theo hadn't heard him. He opened his eyes, thunked the back of his head against the wall, and slid down with weak legs until he was sitting on the undoubtedly filthy floor. Pressing his hot cheeks against his palms, he rocked back and forth a bit, trying to use the discomfort of the hard floor to get rid of his erection. It wouldn't do at all to be seen outdoors with a raging stiffy, and if these people were prone to pressing their noses against the window, then Theo's excuses might be for naught.

Theo returned a few minutes later, heralded by some very cheerful whistling. "Let's get the fuck out of here," he said, and extended a hand. Bill took it and let Theo pull him up. The man was _freakishly_ strong, and if he hadn't had his feet firmly planted, Bill suspected that he would have popped right up off the floor.

"How are we going to get out without going past everyone?" he asked.

"There's a back entrance right there." Theo pointed his thumb farther down the hallway, past the bathroom. "It's where I'm parked. Come on."

Bill followed him down the hallway and over to an industrial door that was probably several decades old. The EMERGENCY EXIT – ALARM WILL SOUND sign over the handle was faded and dusty, and Theo didn't seem worried about it, although Bill spared a thought for the potential for humiliation if an alarm brought the entire Hillel contingent down here. Smirking, no doubt.

Outside, the sun had set, and the air was cooling down from the earlier scorching temperature. "That's my car," Theo said, pointing to an impressively shiny midnight-blue one and holding out his keys. The car unlocked with a beep. "Want to sit in the front?"

"Sure." Bill slid into the passenger seat and buckled himself in automatically – being a healthcare professional did wonders for one's impetus to keep safe. His heart hadn't stopped pounding since Theo first took him out of the social hall, but now his stomach was filled with butterflies as well, huge ones with wings flapping against the lining.

When Theo got in and started the car, though, Bill remembered something that had him hitting himself in the forehead. " _Shit!_ I forgot my dessert!"

"Danny's taking care of it," Theo said as he shifted into drive. "He said he'll put it on your doorstep. Probably gonna eat about half of it, though, crafty bastard."

"I don't care, as long as I get it. I'll need to send him some sort of thank-you card."

"Don't." Theo maneuvered the car into the light traffic passing by on the street. "He'll be completely insufferable. Guy's always going on about how nobody has manners anymore."

"Well," said Bill, "what would he do if I proved myself to have manners?"

"Probably gloat until the end of time. Someone with manners deigned to talk to _him_ , that kind of shit."

"You're not very complimentary of someone you trust with your finances."

Theo shrugged. "Danny's my friend, and yeah, I trust him. Doesn't mean he's not a total fucking ass sometimes."

Oh, that was entirely the wrong thing for him to have said. Just the word 'ass' put the ghost of the sensation of Theo's arsecheeks into Bill's fingers, and he shifted uncomfortably. What was wrong with him? "Will we be at your house soon?" he asked.

"Why? You eager to get rid of me?" Theo gave Bill a brief glance, then broke into laughter. "Oh. Oh, _fuck_ , you can't wait to get me into bed, right? You packin' a giant boner in those ugly scrubs?"

"That's not it at all, you self-centered bastard," Bill snapped back.

"Hey, don't worry," Theo said, reaching out and squeezing Bill's thigh. Bill went absolutely rigid, both in his trousers and outside of them. "You're not the only one. I think all the blood in my head is down in my dick right now."

"Really? That's flattering."

"You better believe it. Fuck, you're hot." Theo's voice seemed to slide several octaves down as he talked, down into a lovely sub-basement sort of area where everything was caramel and chocolate syrup. "I'm so hard right now, I can't think straight."

"I…I…" Bill was suddenly incapable of speech. "Um." He gulped a few times and then tried again. "When you say things like that, it makes me want to get to your house faster."

"So you can take care of it?" Theo winked. From the side, it was a little disconcerting, given the size of his nose.

"No," Bill said, "so I can tear your clothes off."

He wasn't looking at the speedometer, so there was no way to be sure, but Bill could have sworn that Theo accelerated by at least twenty miles per hour just then. "Fuck," Theo grunted. "Don't say stuff like that. I'm _driving!_ "

Discretion, Bill decided, was probably the better part of valor – and the key to survival in an unfamiliar car. He kept his mouth shut as Theo drove his route with the familiarity of someone who had been living in the same place for at least a decade, and only spoke again when the car turned in to a long driveway leading to…"God, this place is _yours?_ " he asked.

"Yep." Theo opened the driver's-side door.

"I thought your nephew said you're a history professor," Bill said. "Surely it doesn't pay that well!" The house was huge to Bill's flat-dwelling eyes, at least two large stories and an attic. It didn't have any of those historical markers, but Bill had lived in Massachusetts long enough to be able to guess that Theo's house had likely been built before the Revolutionary War – by wealthy scions of New England, no less.

"I write textbooks," Theo said, and shrugged. "It's pretty lucrative."

Not for the first time, Bill found himself abruptly considering academia. Of course, that meant he'd have to deal with students, and their questions about what it was _really_ like to deal with C-diff. It was bad enough to deal with it the first time around. Banishing _that_ thought, he shook his head and sized up the house. "Where did Phil fall?"

"You gotta remind me?" Theo pointed. "Right there, on that fuckin' rosebush." The rosebush in question looked innocent, if a bit straggly, but Theo was glaring daggers at it, so Bill figured he ought to trust his judgment.

"Well, your arm doesn't seem to be giving you any problems," he said. "Shall we go in and have at each other?"

That seemed to perk Theo right up, including the impressive bulge in his trousers. " _Yes_. Lemme find my keys." Bill stared unabashedly at the bulge while Theo searched his pockets, feeling his own prick beating in time with his heart so forcefully that he was momentarily worried about his zipper cutting off the blood supply. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this hard for someone else.

"Ha! Got 'em!" Theo held the keys aloft with as much triumph as if he'd found the Holy Grail, then bounded up the front steps and unlocked the door. Bill followed, and was pleasantly surprised to find that the front entranceway, much like the home in which he'd grown up, smelled strongly of old books. It was also pleasantly messy, evidence to which was provided by the umbrella stand that seemed to be full of confetti.

The entranceway also had quite a bit of loose gray hair floating around. Bill blinked. "This house wasn't ever the site of some historical ax murder, was it?"

"What?" Theo asked. Bill pointed wordlessly to the hair. "Oh, that? No, that's just…oh, _there_ he is." An enormous gray cat, far too stocky to have come in as silently as it had, appeared in front of them and gave a very plaintive meow.

"Right," Bill said, amused, watching Theo stoop and pick up the cat. It was shedding long gray fur all over his academic jacket, but he didn't seem to care. This was undoubtedly the source of all the hair. "You didn't mention having a cat."

"You didn't ask." Theo kissed the cat's head, making his beard mesh with its whiskers. "Who's Daddy's fat sack a' crap? That's you. You're Daddy's fat sack a' crap."

"Your _what?_ " Bill couldn't help himself. It was undoubtedly an automatic black mark on one's decorum to criticize a prospective lover's pets (or pet names), but he burst out laughing anyway. Emily Post could spin in her grave if she liked. "Did – did you just call him a fat sack of…" He couldn't finish the sentence for giggling. Dimly, he heard the cat meow again, as if in agreement of how ridiculous the nickname was, and that just made him laugh harder.

Theo was still holding the cat and petting it like he was a Bond villain when Bill got hold of himself. He was also wearing the expression of a Bond villain, and his cat looked just as disgruntled. "What?" he said. "Rug's _my_ fat sack a' crap. Yeah, he is." He kissed the cat's head again; it looked even angrier at the attention.

"Rug," Bill said. "Your cat's name is Rug." It took an absolutely staggering amount of effort not to start laughing again, but perhaps luckily for him, he sneezed instead.

"You all right?"

"Yes, just allergies."

"Fuck." Theo set the cat down. "You need to go? I don't have any Claritin or anything."

"It's all right, it's just a slight reaction," Bill answered, rubbing his nose. "I'm not terribly allergic. No anaphylaxis or whatnot." Antihistamines wouldn't hurt, but he doesn't want to send Theo into a tizzy by telling him so, and this cat doesn't seem to bother him terribly, anyhow. "Hello, Rug. You have a ridiculous name." He knelt on the floor, patted the cat on the head very lightly in case the thing was a biter, and relaxed when it started purring again rather than attacking him. "He's very soft!"

"Mm-hm." Theo's voice was fond, and as soft as his cat's fur; Bill looked up to find him smiling. "He was a shelter stray. We're good for each other. I feed him, and he keeps me from decaying."

That surely spoke of some underlying issues right there, but hate himself for being selfish all he might, Bill was in no mood to address psychological torment right now. Later, perhaps; something was pulling him towards Theo more strongly than he'd ever been pulled before, more strongly than he'd felt the need to fight his family on coming to the States for his master's degree and staying here. Somehow, he knew he wanted to stay with Theodor Derensky longer than one night, and he could hold his hand and comfort him further on down the line. Maybe it was the smell of old books.

"Well, then," he said, "we'd best find your bedroom and I'll make sure you don't even remember what decay is."

"I'm up for that." Theo took his hand and squeezed it. "My room's upstairs."

"Lead on, then," Bill replied.

Theo didn't let go of his hand as he led him up a rickety wooden staircase – original style, at least, if not the original wood – to a long hallway and through the first door on the right. "My room," he said, rather redundantly. Was he nervous? He didn't seem so, but he also didn't seem the sort to repeat himself.

"Yes, I see," Bill said. "It's lovely." And surprisingly non-smelly, for a bachelor's bedroom. The four-poster bed had a darkly-stained frame that fit well with the general era of the house, and there was a beautiful quilt on top of the sheets (balled up and unmade, of course, but still beautiful). The walls, Bill noted with some amusement, were the same deep green as his own car. He would have guessed that Theo would go for a more emo option – black walls, maybe, or some sort of stone.

"Yeah? You like it?" Theo walked in and sprawled a bit awkwardly on the bed, clicking on the bedside lamp. The shade lit up, revealing a beautiful, abstract design that only be woodcut; the green walls glowed with diamond-shaped expansions of the cutout pieces.

"God," Bill said, "that's gorgeous."

"Yeah." Theo stroked the shade and sat up a bit, then took off his jacket and threw it on the floor. "Friend made it for me. She's fuckin' talented."

"Obviously," Bill said rather absently, sitting down on the bed and taking the opportunity to look around the room a bit more. No desk – maybe Theo did his paper-grading elsewhere – but there was a bookshelf stuffed with books, a dresser with a few pairs of what looked to be novelty boxers hanging out of a top drawer, and… "What on _Earth_ is that?" he asked, pointing.

"You like?" Theo said, and snickered. "It's great stress relief."

"How is stabbing a photograph at all productive?" Bill asked. The photo on the wall was of a man with blue eyes (although not as bright as Theo's) and long hair of the most eye-gougingly platinum shade he'd ever seen, and it was full of what looked like a bunch of dangerous knives with very ornate handles.

"That's Randy Morningwood." Theo slid an arm around Bill's waist. Bill jerked in surprise, but he let Theo pull him close to his warm, solid body. Goddammit, his erection had been momentarily distracted there, but now it was coming back in full force. "He's a religion professor, and he's the biggest ass to ever stifle a fart."

"I can see why, if his surname is Morningwood," Bill remarked. "I didn't know it was a surname."

"It isn't. His real name is Greenwood, but I hate that guy," Theo said. "We co-authored a paper once. Never gonna repeat that mistake." He shuddered, which only served to wrinkle his nose and make his hawklike face look endearing.

"Why do you hate him?" Bill asked, stroking Theo's arm. His sleeve had rolled up a bit when he took off his jacket, and his forearm was one of the hairiest Bill had ever seen. It was rather a good thing that that happened to trip his trigger; just thinking about how hairy the rest of Theo's body must be made his cheeks flush all over again.

"Stick up his ass." Theo held up his free hand and put down his thumb. "One of those militant atheists." He put down his second finger. "Boston Brahmin." Third finger. "No sense of humor." He put down his fourth finger, then furrowed his brow. "That's probably about it, except – fuck, right, he thinks he has better hair than I do." He curled his pinky into his palm, then curled his hand into a fist. "And that's why I throw knives at that pretentious-ass photo he has on his faculty page."

"He sounds like a complete prat," Bill said, "but I don't think you brought me to your house to talk about him."

"No," Theo said, his voice thoughtful. "I really didn't." His mouth curved into a grin, half predatory and half an expression that made it look as if he wanted to eat Bilbo whole in a way that wasn't cannibalistic. Bill gulped to see it. "Well?"

"It's your move." Bill's heart was hammering away, and he wasn't sure that he would be able to make a move to kiss Theo without fainting dead away, and wouldn't _that_ be a mood-killer?

Theo solved that problem by grabbing Bill's waist and kissing him even more thoroughly than he had at Hillel. This time, his mouth was hard and rough, his lips seeming desperate against Bill's. Bill felt his own mouth open, and when it did, Theo's tongue was immediately inside.

Bill was sure he was making the world's most embarrassingly aroused noises, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter that Theo's beard was undoubtedly scraping his cheeks raw and red or that his own tongue occasionally hit Theo's teeth. This was right. This was the best kiss he could ever remember having, and in a fit of boldness, he shakily brought his hands up between them to undo Theo's button-down shirt.

"I can get that," Theo said hoarsely, and tore himself away from the kiss just long enough to undo his shirt, one of the buttons popping off when he pulled at it too hard. Bill pulled his scrub top over his head, and had barely gotten it off all the way when Theo was on him again. This time, the mat of black hair on his chest scraped against Bill's nipples, and Bill whimpered against Theo's mouth.

"You like my pelt," Theo said, a laugh caught between his lips and Bill's.

"Yes. _Yes_."

"Mmm…what about this?" Theo flicked one of Bill's nipples with the tip of a long finger, making Bill cry out. Theo's fingertips were heavily callused, and it almost hurt, but what hurt more was the distinct sensation that his trousers had just shrunk a size.

"Oh, _God!_ " He pressed up against Theo's body and his undoubtedly magical hand. "You – you're going to make me come."

"Good," Theo growled. "Pants off." He reached down, and Bill felt his hands working to untie the drawstring of his trousers. Theo's olive skin didn't show the cherry-tomato blush that Bill's English pastiness always did, but even so, his cheeks and forehead were pink. His eyes were mesmerizing, too, with dilated pupils and thick black eyelashes even more visible than usual against his skin. Bill didn't need a nursing degree to know that Theo was very much aroused.

"Yours, too," he said, and undid the button and zipper of Theo's trousers. The bulge inside was so pronounced that it pushed against his hand with every thrust of Theo's hips; the one remaining brain cell in Bill's prefrontal cortex piped up to wonder if, perhaps, Theo's cock was correlated to the size of his nose.

Theo's breath hitched, and he shoved a hand down the front of Bill's trousers. "Briefs?" he said, and chuckled.

Bill's eyes rolled back as Theo's fingers bypassed his pants and moved to directly cup his prick. " _Oh!_ Oh…that's…that's Y-fronts to you."

"Real question is, _why_ are they still on." Theo began to stroke the underside of Bill's prick with two fingers, and Bill suddenly couldn't think at all. "Holy shit, Bill." He cupped his other hand around the back of Bill's head and brought their foreheads together. "I need to fuck you."

"Can't," Bill panted. Thankfully, he'd been a nurse long enough that the medical-professional part of his brain had bypassed rational thought and integrated itself into the wiring of his nervous system. "New – new partners. We've got to get tested."

"What?" Theo's unfocused gaze got a little sharper. "We don't have to…there's other ways to fuck."

"Besides your penis in…" Bill trailed off and whimpered when Theo's thumb stroked over the tip of his cock. "…fuck, in my arse?"

"Yeah." Theo's voice was even deeper than it had been after they'd first kissed, and Bill wasn't sure he could take it if his voice got any sexier. "We can do the blood-testing shit later. I'm out of condoms."

"Right. Right." _Think, you idiot,_ Bill chided himself. This could have been a test question, for fuck's sake. Which sexual acts didn't involve hazardous transmission of bodily fluids? "Er, do you want to rub off, then?"

" _Yes_ ," Theo said, closing his hands around both of Bill's waistbands and yanking down. His trousers and pants came off to his knees, and Theo stared at his erection for long enough that Bill began to wonder if he was turned on or turned off.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, a bit tartly.

"Yeah," Theo answered, "only I really wish I could suck you off." And it seemed that Bill was right; Theo's voice could get sexier, and he absolutely couldn't handle it. He only heard that level of sheer raw want in his own voice when he was about to come, and even then, he had to keep it down. He was embarrassingly vocal when he came, and the walls of his flat were thin.

"Next time," he said. His voice came out in a quaver. "Trousers off."

"Yes, _sir_ ," Theo said with a grin. He pulled his own trousers and boxers (oversized, with a pattern of what looked like Santa Claus in sunglasses) down to his knees, and pulled Bill up against him, cock to cock, Bill's head tucked under Theo's chin.

Bill wasn't sure whose hips started to move first, but it felt so good that he couldn't do anything but go along with the rhythm. He wrapped his arms around Theo, bringing them closer together as Theo's hairy legs tangled with his. Theo's hands migrated to his bare arse and squeezed hard, then squeezed again with every thrust they gave against each other.

He could tell that he was getting close to a mind-melting climax when sweat began to drip down his chin and onto his chest. Theo was in the same condition, and things were rather messier farther down. Bill didn't look; if he did, he was sure that he would come on the spot from the sheer appeal of it. He could already smell the salty, musky bitterness of Theo's pre-come, and that alone was enough to make his head spin.

" _Fuck_ ," Theo grunted, digging his nails into Bill's arse. "Fuck, I – gonna _come_ , Bill…"

Bugger _him_. That voice, rough and desperate as that of a man begging for release after too many long, solitary dry years, was going to be the end of him. " _Oh_ ," he moaned. His thighs were stiff and cramping up from the effort of thrusting so many times.

Then Theo cried out, and squeezed Bill so tightly that it hurt as he came. There was a split-second lull before the burst of warmth on Bill's crotch and his lower belly, and Theo lowered his head to the junction of Bill's neck and shoulder, biting down and giving broken whimper after whimper.

Bill's eyes squeezed shut, and he felt himself come so hard that every molecule in his body seemed to fall away from those around it. His mouth fell open, but he couldn't hear or remember what he said, or why he'd said it.

He would later be embarrassed to admit that that was when he passed out.

 **Notes:**

Motzi: the Hebrew blessing over bread, typically used to start a meal on Shabbat (and every day, in Orthodox households).  
Mamzerim: Hebrew, meaning "bastards." The singular is "mamzer."

The chapter title is from Bilbo's bath song, by Tolkien. And, of course, the "go to hell" exchange is another repurposed Family Guy quote. :D

IDK if the phrasing is the same outside of the US, but just in case: "to pay cash" doesn't mean you put down a bunch of bills. It just means you can pay in full from your checking account at the time that you make the payment. I used to be very confused about that phrase.


	7. And Thy Speech is Comely

**Notes:**

Warning (for this chapter only): mentions of the Holocaust, PTSD from the Holocaust, and the physical and sexual abuse of young people that went on in the camps.

The sun streaming through the haphazardly-unrolled blinds on his bedroom window made Theo's eyes blink open. "Ngh," he grunted, and rolled over, taking inventory of his surroundings. There was a familiar weight on his feet: Rug, obviously, who had curled halfway up into a cat loaf at some point and was basking in the sunbeams, paws out and chin up. Everything else was present and accounted for. Arms, legs, clothes scattered everywhere, books in the usual state of messiness, and his bare pud hanging out.

Wait. What the fuck?

He boosted himself up on his elbows and looked down at the mess on his stomach, then gave a soft noise of relief and rolled into the comforting warmth of Bill Baggins's arm wrapped under his back. Bill exhaled, but evidently wasn't aware enough to wake up fully, although he did burrow his face into the curve of Theo's neck and sling his other arm over his chest.

Theo couldn't help smiling. Now that he thought of it, there was a hazy memory in his awareness of stumbling around to go take a piss in the middle of the night, with the light of the lone streetlamp outside his house coming through the window. If he remembered – and he'd be the first to admit that his short-term memory could be shit – Bill had half woken up then, too, and reached for him.

He did like cuddling. Vince had once called him "a weird M&M that has a really hard shell, so you break a tooth on it and just say 'screw it' and ignore the center, even if it's really squishy and delicious," but not even Vince with his weirdly-accurate powers of perception could predict exactly how squishy – or how cuddly – Theo was.

Scooting closer, he kissed the top of Bill's rumpled, curly hair and idly ran his finger through the sticky mess on his belly. Bad idea. " _Ow_!" he yelped, and extricated his finger from his matted fur as painlessly as he could. It was definitely time for a shower.

But before that, it was time for an ogle. Theo rested his weight on his elbows again and feasted his eyes on Bill, who was definitely an ocular version of the kind of Thanksgiving feast that would leave him full for days. His hair was sticking up in about fifteen different places, his soft belly was streaked with red marks where Theo's pelt had rubbed against it, and his pants and underwear were still pulled down to his knees. Even sleeping, his face was furrowed into a frown. Fucking adorable.

Theo smiled and pulled Bill's pants all the way off, tossing them across the bed to land on top of his own. Bill mumbled something into the pillow and shifted as Theo pulled away, and Rug meowed indignantly at the loss of his cushion. "It's okay," Theo said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up. Why was Bill even more adorable from this angle? It was incomprehensible. "I'm gonna go shower. You need anything, the bathroom's through the door next to the bookcase."

"Mmphright." Bill yawned and continued, voice deep and slurred, "I r'member."

Theo snorted. "You sound drunk. Go back to sleep," he said, and took the opportunity to plant another kiss before Bill woke up fully and realized he'd just fucked a sap. While he was at it, he grabbed Rug and smooshed his head, earning himself a hiss. "I don't get no respect," he said, philosophically if he did say so himself, and walked his bare ass over to the bathroom.

As soon as he'd closed the door most of the way (open just enough to let Rug in if he needed to visit the litter box), he turned the shower water on and checked his reflection in the mirror while it warmed up. The lighting in here was fucking terrible, energy-efficient or no, and the silver in his disheveled black hair showed up a lot more sharply than he would have liked. For the love of God, he was only forty-one, and weren't Mediterranean genes supposed to suppress aging?

"No more burning the midnight oil," he muttered at himself, and bared his teeth. His mouth was a cesspit of morning plaque, but it could wait. For now, he needed to clean his body hair before it turned into a giant dreadlock, and if Bill was still asleep afterwards, maybe he could get a little writing done while the day was still young (writing textbooks, _his ass_ \- that excuse would only hold up so long as Bill didn't know how little that paid). Sticking a hand into the shower, he satisfied himself that the ancient pipes had warmed the water up, and got in.

Thoughts of Bill plagued him as he rubbed a bar of soap against his loofah and set to scrubbing his lower abdomen. He grunted and shook his head when the memory intruded of Bill's cock rubbing against his, and of Bill making those desperate little whining gasps the whole time. Maybe Bill wouldn't be considered good-looking among people like his students, but Theo had been around the block a few more times than they had, even the promiscuous ones. His type was a body that spoke of enjoyment and comfort with every curve of stomach and smile. His type was no-nonsense, but definitely not where it wasn't needed. Oh, God, last night had been nonsense of the sweetest kind.

His type, it was probably safe to admit, was Bill Baggins.

As Theo ran his fingers through the hair on his belly to make sure he'd gotten everything out, his fingertips bumped into the base of what was most certainly a growing erection. Experimentally, he cupped his hands around his balls and surprised himself with how loudly he groaned. Had he gotten hard just from the _thought_ of Bill? The guy had to be magic.

He turned the shower off and frowned, tilting his head in the direction of the bedroom door and straining to hear. Nope, even with the door cracked open, he couldn't hear any movement. It would probably be safest to double-check by looking, but he was dripping wet and it would be a giant pain to dry the floor after he opened the thick glass shower door.

"Whatever," Theo said aloud. He cracked a smile, turned the water back on, and leaned against the wall next to the shower head as he took his cock in his hand. What was he worried about, anyway? Jerking off wasn't exactly offensive material, not after what he and Bill had done with each other. Bill seemed like a heavy sleeper anyway, if he could go back to sleep after Theo dragged his pants off.

He closed his eyes and tightened the loose fist he'd made around his erection. Mm, it felt like he was already starting to leak. As his hips started moving back and forth, Theo rubbed the pad of his thumb across the head and moved his fist up and down. It pulsed in his hand, and he turned his head to the side, pressing his face into the cool, condensation-covered tile to stifle a moan.

The water continued to rain down on him, and Theo found his feverish thoughts turning to Bill jacking off in _his_ shower. He gritted his teeth and thrust into his hand – did Bill have to content himself with quickies after his shifts, or did he take his time and make sure not to neglect those gorgeous, sensitive nipples? He'd made such a gorgeous face when Theo paid attention to one, and he hadn't even flicked it hard. Suddenly, Theo wished he'd brought Bill into the shower with him now, if only to play with his chest until his face screwed up and he came all over them both.

Theo's hips were starting to move in sharp, jerky bursts that made his ass smack loudly, and lewdly, against the shower wall. If he wasn't careful, his hipbones were going to bruise. Not like it mattered, though. It would be easy to pretend that Bill had made those marks, squeezing his ass and digging in his nails, breathing so hard that he was nearly snorting, and…

Theo's head tilted upwards, and his mouth hung open, his eyes screwed so tightly shut that he saw starbursts. He could dimly hear his own deep, ragged breath over the sound of the water, which thankfully hadn't yet gone cold. He was getting close, and he didn't want some fucking temperature change to jerk him out of jerking off. "Ah, c-come _on_ ," he grunted, and pushed his cock in and out of his grip. His voice was as shaky as his wobbly knees. Just a little more, and he'd be done for.

Bill's voice, Bill's mouth open, Bill's body convulsing against his hard enough to make him faint when he came – "Fuck! _Bill!_ " Theo's entire back smacked into the shower wall and he spurted through the tight clutch of his fingers onto the tile floor.

He stood there for a long time, letting his lungs calm down until semi-normal breathing resumed. "Mmmm," he said, and rinsed off his hands. Touching himself, it turned out, was so much better when he had a real person waiting in bed to possibly do it to him again. Which maybe negated the whole point of touching himself, but his dick wasn't really wired in to his ability to think.

The shower water was still warm. Theo looked down to where his wet hair was plastered to his upper body and grabbed his shampoo. It would take at least eight hours for his hair to dry, but it was already drenched, so there wasn't really a downside to making sure it didn't stink of sex for the rest of the day. Besides (and the thought made him grin), it was at least possible that he was in a relationship now, and Bill seemed like the kind of guy who appreciated clean hair.

He stepped out of the shower into the steamy bathroom a few minutes later, and immediately had to grab onto the towel rack to make sure he didn't slip and make an idiot of himself. "The fuck?" Theo said. "How didn't I hear you?"

Bill stopped squinting into the fogged-up mirror and turned, taking his toothpaste-covered finger out of his mouth. Theo's dick tried valiantly to twitch; if he hadn't just whacked it, it probably would have been embarrassingly hard, just from him seeing Bill with white foam dripping off his fingers and out of his mouth. "You didn't hear me?" Bill spat into the sink. "I could hear you quite well, er, if you know what I mean." His face went pink, but his expression was somewhere between devious and smug.

Theo rolled his eyes. "You can say it, you know. You heard me jackin' off." He took his towel off the rack and sniffed it, then wrapped it around his head. The smell of mildew was kind of gross, but he prided himself on being a lazy bastard on his days off, and it wasn't worth the walk to the linen closet for a dry towel.

"Yes. And you said my name, didn't you?" Bill turned on the faucet, ducked both hands under the water, and brought a handful to his mouth. "I could have sworn I heard my name," he continued after he'd gargled and spat.

Theo shrugged. Shame was for the weak. "You're hot," he said. "And how long have you been in here?"

"Only a minute or two before you got out," Bill said, "but I could hear you in your bedroom. It woke me up."

"Wait, I _woke you up?_ I couldn't even hear myself over the water."

"Yes, well, the water was loud, too. That ought to tell you something." Bill wiped his mouth on the hand towel hanging on a hook by the sink. Theo had fond memories of that hook, being as it was one of the first things he'd successfully forged after his lessons at the Village. Of course, he'd probably have better memories of the hand towel now. He didn't care if it made him seem like a teenager, but he was _never_ going to wash that thing.

"Do you want to make out?" he asked.

Bill's hand spasmed, and the hook went through the hand towel. "What," he sputtered, " _here?_ "

"You got something against bathrooms?"

"I do, as a matter of fact," Bill said, putting his hands on his hips and lifting his chin. A sudden urge to kiss the indignant expression right off his face came over Theo, but he ignored it. It wasn't worth the risk of getting his lips bitten off. "Bathrooms are disgusting."

"Jesus F. Lipschitz." Theo rolled his eyes. "You're kidding."

"I am not." Bill folded his arms. "If you want to kiss, we're going to go to your bed and kiss like human beings." He wrinkled his nose, and turned away to sneeze.

Theo grinned. "Human beings and Rug, huh?"

"Oh, _bother_ you." Bill scowled, then sneezed again. "This is normal for me, all right? I get…er, morning sneezes."

"As opposed to what?" Theo asked. "Morning wood?"

"You're an absolute scream." Bill wiped his nose. "Come on, I ought to make you breakfast."

"You cook?" Not that he should have been at all surprised, Theo thought. Bill was already a living, breathing embodiment of the best stereotypes of homebody culture, so why should this have been any different? "Are you any good?"

"I beg your pardon, but even the most persnickety of my cousins have begged for my recipes," Bill replied. He raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying I'm not up to the challenge of feeding you?"

"Nah," Theo said, although he did wonder how amusingly puffed-up Bill would get if he said yes. "I just don't usually eat breakfast."

"Let's go downstairs, then, and I'll change your – wait." Bill looked down at his penis, as if he were just realizing it was there. "Do I need to put on trousers?"

Theo shook his head. "My neighbors hate me," he said. "They think I'm a menace. Nobody ever looks through my windows."

"I'm…not sure if that's good or bad," Bill said, _sotto voce_. "Right. Downstairs. I'll have a look through your cupboards."

"Kickass," Theo said, not entirely sarcastically for once, and led Bill downstairs to the kitchen, trailed by the cat. Bill started opening and closing cabinets, and Theo took that as his cue to get a can of Rug's favorite wet food and dump it into his bowl. Rug _meer_ ed and set to slurping, which – as always – made Theo grin like a loon. Cats were hilarious.

Bill, meanwhile, had begun a running commentary of the inventory of Theo's cabinets as soon as he set eyes on the contents. "Oatmeal's out, you haven't got any…right, maybe I could – Theo, how long has this Karo syrup been in here?"

"I have Karo syrup? Wait. What _is_ Karo syrup?"

"You're hopeless," Bill said, his voice still muffled from within the depths of the pantry. "I see Lucky Charms in here. You said you didn't eat breakfast."

"Yeah, but that's not breakfast food. That's dinner." For a bachelor, anyway. Dee gave him the same kind of hell whenever she came over. "Besides, they're made with the blood of leprechauns."

"Your mind goes to the most disturbing places I've ever heard," Bill remarked.

"'Disturbing' is my middle name," Theo said, stooping to pet Rug over the protests of his weirdly-slept-on back, "so don't wear it out." Rug looked up from his food and gave Theo a look that seemed to say that the bits of smoked salmon dripping off his whiskers were the only reason he kept Theo around, then gave a snort and obligingly wound around his legs for a few seconds.

" _Agh!_ "

Theo jerked his head around so fast that he nearly gave himself whiplash, only to see Bill holding up a brown, squashed piece of fruit with a look of absolute disgusted horror on his face. "Theodor, this banana is disgusting!"

Time to have a little fun, and maybe pull the stick out of Bill's ass while he was at it. "That's a banana?"

"You presumably bought the thing," Bill said in a measured tone, "so you have to know – oh, for the love of God, why am I arguing with you? I ought to just throw this in the garbage."

"Right there," Theo said, pointing to the trash can.

"Thanks _ever_ so." Bill tossed out the banana and then stuck his head back into the closest cabinet. "At least you've got…is this flour or sugar?"

"Probably sugar. I don't really use flour." Dee was the cook in the family. Forrest had known how to cook, too, and probably would have outstripped all of them, but then again, you never really knew the extent of your brother's potential when he died at eighteen. As it always did, the stray thought made Theo's throat tighten up. Forrest would have loved watching this situation, and agnostic as Theo was, he didn't even have the comfort of believing in a possibility that Forrest still _could_. His kind of Judaism didn't always lend itself to belief.

"Ha!" Bill emerged from the cabinet with a yellow box clutched tight in one hand. "You've got Bisquick! I can…" He stopped short, and his face fell. "Goodness, Theo, what's wrong?"

"I…" Theo choked out. He swallowed hard and tried again. "I was thinking about my brother."

"You have a brother?"

"Had," Theo corrected. "He would've loved you. Always on my case about not dating, being too serious, shit like that."

Bill set the box down, his expression full of concern. "Oh, Theo, I'm sorry." He wrapped his arms around Theo's waist, resting his head against his chest, and Theo felt some of the knot in his throat ease. "How did he die?"

Theo rested his head on Bill's shoulder. "He joined the IDF when he was eighteen and stepped on a land mine."

Bill's entire body shuddered, but whether it was in horror or sympathy, Theo couldn't tell. "God, that's awful. What a thing to go through. Were you all…all right after?"

"No." And then he was spilling out the one piece of human history he barely told anyone: not friends, not boyfriends, not colleagues, certainly not one-time sex partners. Yet here he was, clinging to Bill and telling him the life story that, God, the hard exterior was supposed to _prevent_ coming out. "It killed my dad. He had Alzheimer's already, didn't remember jack shit about anything, but when he heard about Forrest, it just…he was gone in a few months."

"Theo…"

He took a deep, shivering breath. "My father survived Buchenwald. Mama was in Ravensbrück. I had to watch Papa go back and relive it all over again. His – his father got beaten to death in front of him. Theodor Derensky the first. I'm named after him, and the fucking kapo who killed him was named Azzo, which is the most ridiculous fucking name I've ever heard." Theo squeezed his eyes shut, but the tears slowly came down anyway. "That's the only funny thing about it. I gotta focus on that so I don't blow my brains out, sometimes."

"Your parents were Holocaust survivors."

"Do I have to repeat it?" Theo snapped. Immediately, Bill went stiff in his embrace, and he felt his chest squeeze tight all over again. Mama always said he couldn't treat people like that, and she'd know, because she was married to a man who practically defined 'lashing out at other people.' The darkness inside Papa had been frightening, and yet she dealt with it. She ameliorated it the best she could. She was a survivor; what was his excuse? "I'm sorry, Bill –"

"No," Bill cut in firmly. "Don't ever be sorry, Theo. You and your family have lived through…I'm sure I've seen documentation that it _did_ kill people, the survivor's guilt. Keep talking." He began to rub Theo's back, his palms slow and sure.

"Is that a nurse's order?" Theo chuckled, but felt his voice break halfway through.

"Consider it that."

"From the desk of Rachel Derensky," he mumbled into Bill's shoulder. Jesus, he hadn't said that in years, not since Mama's funeral.

"Hm?"

"You sound like my mom," Theo said in explanation. "She was a child psychologist. Worked with other survivors' kids. I used to say that to her whenever she got too detached with us, and let Papa – I mean, she didn't _let_ him, but he wasn't…"

Bill's hands stilled. "Wasn't what, Theo? Was he abusive?"

" _No!_ " Not with what he'd been through. Ten, he'd been _ten_ when he was thrown into a camp like an animal. Thrown in, worked until his back nearly broke, and left to survive disease and degradation and being kicked in every possible way. _Ja, ja, ich bin_ , Tuvia Derensky used to scream at night in the broken German that Mama said he'd had to learn in Buchenwald. _Yes, I am_ , he cried into the darkness while Theo held Forrest and Dee as tightly as he could. _I am, I am a filthy Jew_.

"Theo?" Bill's gentle voice came to him, as if from far away. "Theo, are you with me?"

"Huh?" Theo blinked and rubbed his eyes on Bill's shoulder. "I just…my dad…" His jaw involuntarily clenched. "He wasn't abusive," he said, voice a little stronger now. "He was hurt. There's a difference. He never did anything to hurt us, but sometimes he just said things that scared the hell out of us."

"Like what?" Bill's hand migrated up to Theo's neck, under the fall of his wet hair, and massaged. "Did he tell you graphic details?"

"Nah," Theo said, and reached down to pinch Bill's ass, eliciting an indignant squeak. He was beginning to feel much more like himself. "But he said stuff like if he'd been as loud as us when he was a kid, the Nazis would have found him and killed him. I mean, it was technically true."

Bill pulled back and looked Theo steadily in the eyes. "Did that make your brother suicidal?"

"Never. Forrest was the liveliest person I ever knew." And the most annoying. "You know the movie Animal House, right? The thing Bluto did with his face?"

Bill frowned in concentration. "What," he said after a few seconds, "being a zit?"

"Yeah, that." Theo grinned. "Forrest used to do that whenever we went out for Chinese food. The second Mama and Papa turned their backs, he filled his cheeks up and…" Theo blew out a mouth-fart. "All over everything. Dee would get so mad."

"You're joking."

"Nope. You think Vince is bad? Forrest was worse." Theo shook his head at the flood of memories. "Forrest wasn't suicidal, he just cared too much. School wasn't for him, but he really wanted to help people, so as soon as he graduated high school, he made Aliyah."

"What's that?"

"Sorry, I keep forgetting you're not Jewish." He'd never imagined spilling his guts to a non-Jew, not about the camps and Papa and losing half his family at twenty, the black funeral suit that was tucked away in his closet stained with his own tears and Dee's. "Means he moved to Israel. He joined the IDF right out of high school and then…" He shrugged. "He came back in pieces."

"That's…" Bill's mouth worked for a few seconds, words obviously failing him. "That's horrifying, and I'm so sorry you had to experience it."

"It was worse for Mama," Theo heard himself saying. It felt so weird and so colossally _wrong_ to reveal this, almost like he was cheapening her memory to make her anything but stronger than steel. "Papa and Forrest dying just about killed her, too. She only lasted eight years after they died."

"What was the official cause of death?" Bill asked.

"Congestive heart failure," Theo said. "She was nine when she got sent to the camps, and it fucked up her metabolism." And her psyche. There had been things that Dee had told him after Mama's funeral that he would never tell another human being, not even Bill. Mama and Papa had met in a DP camp at the end of the war, but they'd simultaneously been in Buchenwald for a short time when the transports of women came over from Ravensbrück. The reason they brought the women over…well, Theo wished he'd never learned it. If the war had lasted any longer, Mama would have been forced through the full parade of horrors, ten years old or not.

"Probably marasmus," Bill said, nodding his head knowledgeably. "Have you heard of it?"

"Yep. You read a lot of weird shit when you study history." Not that he'd looked at photos of marasmus sufferers too long, though. Their wizened, tortured bodies made his stomach twist up into knots.

Bill leaned in and gave him another hug. "Do you feel up to having something to eat?" he said into the curve of Theo's shoulder.

"I think so," Theo said, and pulled away to poke himself in the stomach. Obligingly, it growled. "Yep, my stomach's making evil noises."

"Good!" Bill put his hands on his hips and smiled. "Given the state of your cupboards, I know this might be too much to ask, but have you got any eggs? Eggs that weren't expired two months ago yesterday?"

"Yes, you fuckin' fussbudget," Theo said through a laugh. His eyes tracked the movements of Bill's round ass as, along with the rest of him, it bounced all the way to the fridge.

"These look fine," Bill said after he'd spent an annoying amount of time visually, tactilely, and (from the looks of it) olfactorily inspecting the eggs. "Where are your pans? And a spatula. And I'll need some oil as well."

That was the wrong thing to say to a naked guy, especially if you were another naked guy. If Theo had had a book to hand, he would have shoved it in front of his crotch. "Pans and stuff are in the drawers under the stove. Oil…" Damn, he had to think about that. Did he even have any? His cooking repertoire was pretty much limited to pasta, more pasta, and those bags of frozen vegetables when his digestive system decided it had had it up to here with his habits. "Just a second."

It took a lot of rummaging while Bill clanged various kitchen implements together, but he eventually found a half-full bottle of safflower oil, old enough that its cap had some kind of crust gluing it down. "This is the best we're gonna do," Theo said, holding the bottle up and wiggling it. "Take it or leave it."

Bill made a face. "I'll take it, but I'm not going to like it." He sighed. "Then again, if I'm going to go down that rabbit hole, I really ought to consider how old that Bisquick is, and if I do that, I won't want to cook pancakes at all."

"Yeah, you don't want to do that," Theo agreed. "I really don't have any other food."

Bill held up a hand, palm out, and wiggled his fingers. "Just shut up and give that here."

Theo obliged, and within a few minutes, Bill had whipped up a bowlful of batter while his largest pan preheated on the stove. "Wait," Theo said as Bill was raising the bowl to pour some batter out. "You need an apron."

"Why?"

"Because you're cooking with _heat_ and I don't want you to burn your grundle off," Theo answered. "I'm kind of attached to it now."

Bill made a dismissive noise, but it seemed to be in amusement, not annoyance. "My _grundle_ will be fine, but thanks for your concern," he said. "I suppose that means you actually have an apron hidden away somewhere?"

"You forget, I'm friends with Benny Budin." Theo opened a drawer next to the sink and pulled out the one apron he owned: bright red, with ruffles at the bottom and "My nuts are down here" emblazoned in fabric paint. Benny, although not the most artistic of people, had added a fairly accurate depiction of a bag of walnuts next to the text. "Got it," he said, holding it up with his best shit-eating grin.

Bill squinted. "My eyes _have_ to be deceiving me."

"Nope." Theo flapped the apron and tied it around Bill's waist for him. "Here you go, champ."

"At least it's not got pasties as an accessory," Bill muttered towards the pan as he poured in two big rounds of batter. "That would be a massive fire hazard."

Theo held his chin between his thumb and forefinger and put on his best pretending-to-think face. "You know, Benny did train as an architect for a while. I bet he could rustle up some material."

"Perish the thought. Pasties would look terrible on me." Bill experimentally prodded the edge of a pancake with a spatula and shook his head. "No, it's not ready yet. But as I was saying, have you taken a good hard look at me lately? I'm not exactly magazine material."

"Because you're not thin," Theo said. No point in beating around the bush. He'd known people who did (Danny Reisberg tended to be the worst offender, in his opinion) and it was just annoying, so better to say the words and have done with it.

"Exactly." Bill flipped the pancakes. "I'm a bit of a fat bastard, in case you haven't noticed."

"No, Benny Budin is a fat bastard, and he still beat Vince in the Boston Marathon." Theo put his hands on Bill's bare shoulders and began to rub the warm skin. "And I'm not skinny, either. Neither is Dee. We don't fat-shame in my family."

Bill pressed his back up against Theo's chest, slumping a little in seeming relaxation. Theo hadn't even realized he'd stiffened up. Was Bill's body image really so terrible? Poor guy. "That does make me feel a bit better," he said. "Thank you, Theo."

"Mention it any time," Theo said. He blurbled the curve of Bill's neck, which got him a very satisfying yelp and pressed Bill's ass into parts known and loved.

"Don't make me burn the pancakes!" Bill said. He took the two sizzling pancakes out of the pan and deposited them on a paper towel, then poured two new ones in. "How old are you, Theodor?" he asked when he'd finished, in an extremely shirty tone. "Four?"

"Nah, I'm at least seven." Theo grabbed a pancake and bit into it. His fingertips and tongue screamed in pain, but it was totally worth it – how long had it been since he'd had pancakes? There was that time they went out for Caleb's tenth birthday breakfast, but that was…fuck, had to be six months ago.

Bill whacked his hand, thankfully not with the hot spatula. It still hurt, though. "Enough of that!" he scolded. "You'll stay out of those until they're finished. I didn't rummage through the most stereotypical man-cupboards of my entire existence to have you annihilate the results."

Theo pulled his hand away and gave Bill puppy eyes. "I can't even finish this one?"

"No." Bill took the pancake and put it back on the paper towel. "And don't think you can weasel your way into getting an extra by biting that one, either. I've swapped saliva with you already and I shall be eating that as part of my fair share."

"Well, fine," Theo said, with just enough whine injected into his voice that (he hoped) he sounded petulant, but not as bad as Phil. "If that's the way you're gonna be about it, I'll go sit on the couch." He wagged his ass in Bill's direction, just for the chaser, then turned back to make sure he hadn't come across as actually angry. "You know where the living room is, right?" Bill shook his head. "Just through that doorway."

"Got it." Bill nodded. "I'll come in when these are finished."

Theo scooped up Rug and carried him into the living room, then plunked them both down on the couch. Dee hated the couch; it was an old blue corduroy thing that she said looked like it had come from a rummage sale (it had), and it was so squishy that she fell backwards against the headrests whenever she sat down on it. That happened to be precisely the reason Theo liked it, though, and he made good use of the squishiness by sprawling across it now. Rug dug his claws into his belly and curled up for a good catnap.

About five or ten minutes of petting Rug later, Bill came in with enough pancakes to feed the entire population of Hillel. "Taking a nap, are we?" he said, sitting down on the couch with a slight _oof_.

"We _were_ taking a nap. Rug, off." When Rug refused to listen, Theo lifted him off and managed to get himself into a sitting position by digging his elbows into the couch cushions and using that as leverage. "Those smell awesome," he said.

"You know damn well that they taste as good as they smell," Bill replied. He held up the pancake that Theo had bitten into and, with a mischievous smile, licked it on both sides. "This is mine now."

"Ew," Theo said with as much disgust as he could muster up, and took a pancake that didn't have some immature asshole's spit all over it. He had to admit, Bill had talent. Even with a box of mix that had been in there God only knew how long, the pancakes were perfectly browned on both sides and were fluffier than the ones you got at a diner.

"Good, yeah?" Bill asked, biting into his annexed pancake. Theo was relieved to see that Bill apparently had no issues about talking with his mouth full.

"Yeah," he answered in kind, then swallowed. "Should've been a chef or something. You missed your calling, Bill – Rug, fuck off!" Far from actually going away, Rug had migrated to his thighs and was making a nuisance of himself with loud, insistent meows. "You want pancakes too, huh?"

Bill noisily chewed another piece of pancake, bringing his count up to infinity plus one little imperfections that made Theo's heart melt like a box of chocolates in a hot car. "He's certainly a perseverant bugger, isn't he?"

"Yep," Theo said. He tore off a piece of his pancake and held it up to Rug, whose whiskers perked up right away. "Hey, floofball, come get it before I change my mind."

"Oh, no. _No_. You are not feeding my pancakes to a cat," Bill protested, but luckily for a certain floofball, there was nothing he could do about it. Rug had the pancake in his mouth and was already making that hysterical _smek smek smek_ noise that pets did when they were completely and utterly confused by a new food.

Theo snorted. "Good boy," he said. Rug rubbed the side of his furry face against his fingers. "Even better boy."

"He's going to have horrific constipation," Bill said, "and I'm going to be right here to say that I told you so."

"No, he's not. He has his wet food and a bowl of water." Theo smushed Rug's face between his hands and kissed the top of his head. "That's a good boy who likes pancakes. Are you gonna be a farty boy later? I bet you are."

"You know, of all the people who would use baby talk with your pets, I'd put you near the bottom of the list," said Bill. "Especially since your living room is so masculine – what is _that?_ " He leaped up off the sofa and positively ran over to Theo's bookcase. "You've got the entire set of T.D. Darrens!"

"I think a lot of people do," Theo said as noncommittally as he could. Fucking hell, was he coming up on another moment of truth here? Was Bill even trustworthy with this kind of information? For the love of Pete, the whole reason he wrote incognito was because he'd spontaneously combust if he had to deal with the typical lifestyle of the rich and harassed. _Danny_ took his author photos, and Theo still insisted on having a hat over his face the whole time.

"These are first editions, Theo!" Bill squatted down and examined the titles on the bottom two shelves. "And you've got… _The Souls That Remain?_ " He pulled out one of the books and his jaw dropped. "Is this an advanced reader's copy of _Oma's Shoes_ , or have I died and gone to book heaven?"

"Your choice, but I'd say book heaven." _Moment of truth. Moment of truth._ Theo could feel himself starting to sweat, and it took every bit of effort he could muster to keep his voice even. Were his fucking bookcases going to topple possibly the best relationship he'd had in years, and all before he even learned Bill's middle name?

"Oh my _God_." With all the reverence of some religious whackjob who'd just discovered the Holy Grail, Bill pulled out a thin book, almost a pamphlet, and held it up to the light (in this case, the sun coming through the dusty blue curtains). "You have the _charity short stories_. Do you have any idea how much this goes for on eBay?"

$30,000 minimum, and that wasn't counting the fraudulent lots that Danny and his paralegal had to deal with. "A lot?"

"Yes, a lot, and yours are all in perfect condition." Bill shook his head. "I don't believe this. My copies have got pages stuck together in indelicate places, and yours..." It was gorgeous, how red he got when he was embarrassed. "How do you keep these in mint?"

"It helps," Theo said, "if you don't read them." He was doing this. Jesus F. Lipschitz on a fucking Kaiser roll, he was really doing this.

"Why on Earth would you put down money for things like this if you're not going to read them?" Bill demanded, hands on hips.

Theo shoved an entire pancake in his mouth, both to buy himself some time and to get the last of a good thing while he could. If Bill ran out of the house screaming, if he went running to the press, if he refused to see him again, at least he'd have tasted his cooking. He couldn't chew forever, though, and eventually he swallowed and rested his head against Rug's fur. "Because," he said, "I already wrote them."

The silence that greeted him was a good excuse to give Rug kisses on his back and thus avoid Bill's eye, so Theo availed himself of the opportunity. Meanwhile, Bill still hadn't said a word since he dropped the proverbial punch-bowl turd. Had he fainted dead away? There hadn't been any thumping, but then, he _was_ closer to the ground than Theo was.

He looked up and dared a glance in Bill's direction. No, Bill hadn't fainted. His mouth _was_ hanging open, though, and he didn't look far off swaying right onto the floor. "Sit your ass down before you pass out," Theo said, and winced when that came out a hell of a lot meaner than he'd intended it to sound.

" _You_ ," Bill said. His voice was low and more than a little unsteady.

"Yeah, I…what?" Theo found himself wishing that he kept pepper spray around. Bill was starting to look disturbingly like some of the homicidal maniacs out of the whoppers Dwight had heard from his buddies at the police academy. "Finish the sentence."

Bill's mouth worked a few times, forming the outlines of words that Theo couldn't quite fill in. "How," he finally said faintly, "has no one ever worked that out? For a pseudonym, it's not very subtle."

Theo's fluttering heart suddenly slammed into a more normal rhythm. It made his head spin, and he shook it to clear the bats out of the belfry. "That's what you're focusing on?" he asked, daring to crack a smile. "First of all, I'm very skilled at the art of hiding in plain sight. Second, people are morons. Third, my middle name doesn't start with D, so that throws people off the scent."

"What…what _is_ your middle name, then?" Bill said. The color was starting to come back into his face.

"Shlomo," Theo told him. "Don't go spreading that around. I hate it."

"Theodor…" Bill murmured. He set the book down on the edge of a shelf and wobbled back to the couch on the least steady legs Theo had seen since his infrequent party nights at college. "Theodor Shlomo Derensky." He chuckled and took his head in his hands. "Could you sound any more Jewish?"

"Possibly, but then I'd be a stereotype." Theo patted his back. It was shivering, which probably wasn't good, but the one medical professional in the room seemed to be in the middle of said breakdown and, obviously, couldn't give his input. "Phil already gets enough crap because he has Tuvia for a middle name."

"After your father?"

"Yup. Dee probably would've used Rachel, but their house turned out to be a sausage fest."

Bill gave a rather hysterical-sounding giggle. "Sausage." He thunked his head down to his knees. "God, I'm sorry, I never expected…" A strange sound, half hiccup and half cough, came out of his mouth. "You're my favorite writer, Theo. Absolute favorite. I've wanked off to your books more times than I can count."

"Uh." Was this another pepper-spray situation?

"Fuck, fuck, was that too much?" Bill said quickly. "I'm so sorry."

"Nah, I just kind of got that from the 'pages stuck together' bit," Theo replied. "Look. Bill…" He swallowed. This – he didn't even know how to classify what he was about to say next. There was no cliché strong enough to describe the fact that he opened his mouth and said "I can't be in a relationship with you if the books are going to get in the way."

"You want a relationship with me?" Bill's mouth fell open again.

"God, yes. _God, yes_." Theo grabbed Bill's hand and squeezed it as hard as he could, which was hard enough to make Bill wince. "You're _neshamah_ , Bill. Hebrew for 'soul,'" he elaborated at the sight of Bill's furrowed brow, "and 'breath.' It's one of those Biblical concepts that gets so fucking overused, I want to punch a wall whenever I hear it at someone's wedding."

A light came on in Bill's eyes. "Does that mean 'soul mate'?"

"Yeah." Theo lightened his grip on Bill's hand, but he still held it tightly. "I never wanted the stupid books to define me. You know how old I was when I wrote the first one? I was in _college_ , and I was doing the fucking angst thing where I wrote a Holocaust novel. Rite of passage, right? One of my professors knew a guy, and next thing I know, I'm a household name." It had actually happened over a few years, but the Cliffs Notes version took a lot less time to say.

"Probably more of a _write_ of passage," Bill said, and tinked an imaginary cymbal.

Holy shit, all that and a sense of humor, too. Theo had to laugh, and ended up surprising himself with how intense of a belly laugh it ended up being. Relief, maybe, or just more fear disguised as his usual brand of sarcasm. "God," he said in a sudden, humiliating landslide of self-awareness, "now I'm the one who sounds like a creep. I met you _last week_."

"Theo." Bill patted his hand. "Please calm down. All you did was give me a bit of clichéd nonsense about love at first sight. It's not as though you asked me to marry you, is it?"

"No, of course not." Just in case, though, Theo let go of Bill's hand and saw, with some relief, that Bill didn't draw it away. He'd let the 'clichéd nonsense' thing slide. "I just…I think we _could be_ that. If you wanted to try a relationship. Not that…not that…" Theo trailed off with a grunt of frustration and pulled his fingers through his hair. He wrote bestselling novels as a fucking day job and he couldn't force out the words to accurately describe his own romantic history, how pathetic was that?

"I've had shitty luck with relationships," he finally said. Good enough. "The first time I ever did a guy, it was a couple years before Papa died. I went on a trip to England just to get away from my fucking house, and I ended up fucking my host student's brother."

"How old were you?"

"Eighteen."

This time, Bill took his hand and squeezed it. His hands were warm and dry, not nearly as callused as Theo's own hands, but all the more perfect for it. "Your life has just been colored by your family's fucking tragedies," he said in a soft tone, "hasn't it?"

Theo couldn't help snorting. "Yeah, and you have a filthy mouth."

"Says the man who howled so profanely over three shots in the arse that my supervisor had to ask him to calm down!" Bill echoed Theo's snort, then shook his head. "Is that what you're trying to say? We've known each other a week and you hated me for most of it?"

Theo blinked. That was _exactly_ it, and either he was completely transparent, or nursing gave people super-ninja-people-reading powers. "Yeah."

"A thought," Bill said, "is different from an action. And for your information, wanking to someone's writing does not a stalker make. Would you, I don't know…" He tapped his chin. "Would you want to have sex with Jean Auel, even if some of her scenes are worthy of masturbation?"

Theo made the most disturbed face he could. From the look on _Bill's_ face, it did the job. "I don't know who you've been talking to, but her sex scenes are fucking terrible."

"Well!" Bill made a noise that, honest to God, could be classified as a harrumph. "I'm just as gay as you are, Theo, and I happened to like some of them."

"It's not because they're straight sex scenes. You gotta remember some of the stuff I've written." Bill blushed, so that was definitely a yes. "It's because she doesn't know how to write sex scenes that aren't straight out of a Harlequin." Theo held his hands out a foot apart. "Jondalar and his amazing Dino-Dong –"

"All right, _stop_." Bill put his hands out as if in surrender, his eyes screwed shut in what was probably disgust. Theo couldn't blame him, because there was some brain bleach-worthy material in that series for sure. "I've got the point." He hooked his arm through Theo's and leaned his head against Theo's shoulder.

"So I didn't scare you off?" Theo ventured.

"Absolutely not. I've seen far, far worse."

"Good." Time to go whole hog. "Because there's something else."

"Oh, shite." Bill tensed up a little. "You're not going to tell me you used to be a trained assassin, are you?"

"No. Close, though." Quickly, upon seeing the look in Bill's eyes, Theo continued. "I'm a reenactor. You know Lexington Village?"

"What, the place where they take the bored elementary-school children?"

Theo stifled a groan. Field trips were the worst. "Yeah, exactly. I know how to use a forge and cool shit like that. On the weekends, I'm a fake rabbi over there." He steeled himself for the inevitable laughter and said, "I go by Chaim Rabinowitz."

"Forge – oh! Yes, I remember!" Bill's face broke into a wide smile. "Last week, when I came to Hillel. You mentioned something about a forge, and an apprentice, and –"

"And he set me on fire," Theo broke in. "Yep, I remember. That kid singed my hair off." It still burned him up (metaphorically) to think about it, even years later. That had been the last time the kid came for a lesson, which didn't say very complimentary things about his drive. A little fire couldn't scare away a real smith. "You know how long it takes to get my hair this long?"

"Too long." Bill ran his hand through his own short curls. "I can't even imagine."

"Don't even try." Theo rested his cheek on Bill's head. "I'd invite you, but they're sticklers for accuracy over there. We'd probably get put in the stocks for crimes against nature."

Bill chuckled, the rumbles of which Theo could feel even through his beard and Bill's hair. "Then let them," he said. "I'd like to visit, Mr. Man of Many Secrets. Possibly watch you unveil more hidden talents while I'm there."

Theo lifted his head and kissed Bill's cheek like the romantic douche that his feelings seemed to be intent on dragging out of him. "I'll find you some breeches."

There was a rustle of fur between them, and Theo jerked away from Bill to look right into the face of his extremely guilty cat, who had toppled the pancake platter and currently had a whole pancake sticking out from between his fangs. " _Busted_ ," he said triumphantly. There was just something incredibly satisfying about beating the furry little food burglar at his own game.

"He knows he did wrong," Bill said, shaking a reproving finger at Rug. Rug gave a muffled meow through his mouthful of booty and, to Theo's massive surprise, jumped into Bill's lap. The asshole never liked anyone except him, but a new guy elicited that kind of response? "Claws," Bill squeaked as Rug started to knead. "Oh, oh god, CLAWS!"

Yeah, that was a more typical response.

"I'll get the catnip mouse," Theo said with a sigh that was more fake than not, and deposited Rug on the floor. It would probably be a good idea to check his answering machine, too, just in case (well, it was really a probability) his nephews had filled it with frantic messages already.

"Don't be too long," Bill called after him as he went through the door to the kitchen. "This _is_ a rather bedlike couch, isn't it?"

Theo stopped short, and the door whacked him in the ass. "Yeah, I'll be right there." If Bill meant what Theo thought he meant, then this was going to be one of the best days he'd had in a long time.

 **Notes:**

Lexington Village doesn't actually exist, but there are a number of similar reenactment communities in the United States. They're usually set around the time of the Revolutionary War, the Civil War, or the settlement periods of the Old West, and can be a great tourist attraction.


	8. Solomon Had a Vineyard

It was hot and muggy enough outside that Omer was wearing shorts. This was not, in Gad Rabin's opinion, a good thing.

This wasn't a size issue. It wasn't, after all, as if he was so thin himself. Everyone in the family, including Sima and Galil, were chunky drinks of water. Omer just…well, was _Omer_. Gad took a look at his brother's legs, which were tufted with white hair and mapped with bulging varicose veins, and took a drink of his iced beer in order to keep from tossing his cookies all over Theo Derensky's lawn.

At least, he reflected, the spread was good. Theo kvetched about it every year, but he still invited all the local Jews over to his house to celebrate the Fourth of July anyway, and then he outdid himself with food and drink. A fine Jewish tradition, if a bit noisy and chaotic. Speak of the devil - Gad winced as the blaring shriek of his son's voice reached his ears. "Galli, not so loud," he called over to Galil, who stopped in the process of running after Caleb Adler-Derensky and nodded.

"Okay, _Aba_ ," he said, and ran off again, shouting " _Faldi fandonza!_ " after Caleb's retreating dark head. Gad shook his head. The boy never listened. He hoped Galil wasn't going to get bullied for his excessive quoting of _The Princess and the Frog_ , either. The movie had come out when he was five, and he was still obsessed four years later, but fortunately, he was also pretty thick-skinned.

Omer was still an eyesore in Gad's peripheral vision. Fortunately, though, he wasn't the only person at the party by a long shot - Galil's _mother_ , now, there was someone who looked good in shorts. Gad munched on a piece of fried chicken, the grease of which was in danger of dripping down to his paper plate (it had probably already saturated his beard), and looked around for his wife. Sima was deep in a conversation with Danny Reisberg, as it turned out, and Gad had a perfect side view.

In deference to the holiday, she was wearing a red velvet tank top, and her heavy breasts were straining at the fabric, so that every so often she reached up and adjusted the straps as they rested on her freckled shoulders. He almost thought he could see her nipples, and that was a thought to make him even hotter than the temperature called for. Although, no, it wouldn't be appropriate to ogle, not when there was potentially another reason that her chest was bothering her.

Suffice it to say that there had been a lot of labor involved in getting to this point. Sima had presented him with the positive pregnancy test last week, and _bli ayin hara_ and God willing, it would go to term this time. Galil was a handful, sure, but he wasn't their only child by choice. Sima had what she colorfully called "fibroids the size of our son's head," and although she'd successfully conceived with Galil when she was close to thirty-four, the nine years since his birth had seen at least two miscarriages and some periods that were heavy enough to make them both suspicious.

Gevalt, a second-time father at _forty-six_. The thought alone made him give his head a rueful shake and bite vigorously into his chicken leg. Sima wasn't exactly young anymore, either. If they were going to be blessed with another child, there was probably a C-section in their future, and fancy ultrasounds, and a lot of other expensive things that he had to admit he was ignorant about. Well, if he had to learn, the situation would still be a blessing. He'd take the inconveniences with the good.

"Gad!" The sound of his brother's voice, pitched high and flat as it always was to account for the hearing loss Omer had been accumulating for years, made Gad look up. His brother was ambling towards him, drink in hand – probably soda, since he thought that alcohol would make his hearing worse. In all fairness, he was probably right. "Control your son, all right?" Omer jerked his chin at the assortment of rowdy children weaving their way in between the clusters of adults.

"Fine, fine." Older brothers, such a pain in the _tuchus_. Omer was sixty and he still got on Gad's nerves. "Galli!" Gad shouted, and caught Galil by the back of his red-and-blue-striped T-shirt as he made a convenient beeline for the space between his father and his uncle. Galil squirmed, but Gad kept his grip tight. "What did I just tell you?"

"We're outside, _Aba!_ " Galil protested. Gad inwardly cursed the day his mother had hoped aloud that he would have a child just like him. Mom probably laughed her ass off every time the family visited, because Galil was his spitting image in both looks (so everyone said) and stubbornness. Clearly, she had an in with God or something.

"I don't care. You're disturbing people. _Sheket b'vakasha_ , okay?"

"Fine." Galil pouted. " _Y'khol lalekhet, Aba?_ "

Such disrespect from such a young child. Unfortunately, he couldn't blame anything but genetics. "Okay, but keep it down. If I get another complaint, you're going inside. Got it?"

"Yeah."

"Right. Get out of here." Gad released Galil and resisted the compulsion to give him a fond swat on the behind as he hightailed it. You really wouldn't expect a chunky kid like that to be able to run so fast, but run he did, easily outpacing both of the Adler-Derensky boys. Oreet was reluctantly following, with her dog trailing behind. Poor kid probably wanted to draw, Gad suspected.

"That boy has no filter," Omer commented.

"No," Gad said. "Probably takes after his uncle." He snorted quietly to himself, and made an executive decision to go over to the tarp-draped folding tables and get some more food before Omer figured out that that was actually an insult.

He made his way over the soft, wet grass, reveling in how good it felt against his bare, callused soles, and surveyed the smorgasbord. The kids had picked the fried chicken and rolls pretty clean, but there was plenty of watermelon left, so Gad piled a few slices onto his plate. After a few milliseconds of consideration, he supplemented it with some of the chocolate-frosted butter cake that Bill had made for the party.

"Oh, _yes_ ," Gad moaned as a forkful of cake practically melted in his mouth. He hadn't even made it five feet from the food table, but that was how good Bill's cooking was. Even so, regardless of the little weirdo's inexperience with Jewish people, he would have preferred that Bill was there. He grew on you, sort of like those stomach viruses that Galil was constantly bringing home from school.

It might even have been those same stomach viruses that made Bill unable to be at Theo's today. Theo wasn't taking it lying down, though; he'd had Bill on speakerphone for at least half an hour, by Gad's calculations. The backyard was huge and Theo was kind of far away, but if he strained, he thought he could hear – yep. "…sure you can't get out of it?" Theo was saying.

Gad moved just close enough that he could hear Bill's voice crackling out of the phone. "I told you, Monique took a shift for me last month."

"So she can't come in today?" Theo said, frowning down at the screen.

"No, her ex hasn't got the twins today. She wants to spend the Fourth with them."

Theo sighed so hard that feedback crackled out of his phone. "Just so you know, everyone's gonna finish your cake before you can have any."

"And how many pieces have you eaten?" Tinny and muted though it was, Bill's voice still sounded amused. "Five?"

"Three!"

"Fine, I stand corrected. You haven't got me on speakerphone, have you?"

"Hi, Bill," Gad said, moving himself into what he hoped was audible range. For no reason that he could figure out, he waved at the phone. "Theo's broadcasting your personal business."

There was a pause. "Who is this?" Bill asked.

"Gad Rabin."

"Oh, Gad! How are you? How's the party going?"

"Pretty good," Gad said. "Your cake's almost gone." He steadfastly ignored the laser glare that Theo was shooting somewhere into his forehead. The man didn't know how to have a good time, even on the Fourth of frigging July. "And Theo ordered a lot of food."

"That's good. I'm terribly sorry I couldn't make it," Bill said, "but I promised a friend of mine she could have the day off and someone's got to be here. Lots of family injuries at the holidays, you know. Arguments and all that."

Gad snorted out a laugh. "Chicken bone shoved up the nostril?"

"Yes, precisely. Ugh, I shouldn't even be on the phone."

"Yeah, you should," Theo cut in. "Ignore him, Bill." He squeezed the phone in his hand and brought it close to his chest. "I say you should be on the phone."

"Theo, stop being a possessive bastard," Bill said, his voice rather muffled against Theo's chest and the fabric of his disgustingly garish Hawaiian shirt. God only knew where Theo hid (or buried) that fashion sense the rest of the year, because he usually stuck to jeans. At least this shirt was red, white, and blue, but that was about the only good thing Gad could say for it. Penguins on roller blades, _really?_

"Is that Bill?" Sima yelled from partway across the yard. "Gadi, does Theo have Bill on speaker?"

"Yeah, he does."

"That's the funniest thing I've heard all day!" Sima left her conversation with Danny, who looked absolutely miffed at something or other (probably the implication that he wasn't funny, which, to be fair, he wasn't), and came to join them. "Bill, have you moved in yet?"

"In the process," Bill said. "Is this Gad's wife? Er…Sima?"

"That's right," Sima said as she draped an arm over Gad's shoulders. There was red stubble in her armpit, and as usual, he fought the urge to put his face in it. How was it that every part of his wife could do things to him? He had to settle for kissing her shoulder, which made her squeak, say " _Gad!_ ," and plant a fast one on his cheek.

"Bill, I know you can't see it," Theo said dryly, "but Gad and Sima are being mushy as hell over here."

"And you're stroking Rug and both of you are glaring at them?" Bill said.

"No, Rug's shut in Theo's bedroom or something," Gad answered. "Trayf's here, and he's huge." Danny had actually lugged a hard-sided kids' wading pool all the way from his house and insisted that Theo fill it with cold water so that Trayf could stay cool. Although Gad had to admit that it was a considerate idea, the upshot of it was that Trayf had been dripping water all over the yard the whole day.

"You know how much of a jerkoff Rug can be," said Theo. "It's really for Trayf's safety."

"Yes, he can be quite a biter," Bill said. "Just make sure you've given him enough food, or he'll scratch at the door."

Gad chuckled. Rug was a huge blob, and it was difficult to imagine him getting up the impetus to do anything, much less extend his paws far enough to scratch. From what Gad had seen of him, Bill was right in that he mostly just sat and glared at people. Galil had tried to pet him once, and had gotten a scratch down the back of his hand for the effort.

"He has a whole can of wet food in there," Theo told Bill. "I think he'll be okay."

"Good, because – oh, hold on." There was a pause, during which Gad could hear bizarre beeps and the staticky, staccato fragments of what sounded like a harried conversation. "Damn, my patient's got a fucking emergency," Bill said as he came back on the line. "Got to go. I'll talk to everyone later if you're still at the house."

"Good luck, Bill," Gad said, waving at the phone. Sima rested her chin on his shoulder.

It seemed like ending the call pulled Theo's plug; he definitely looked a little demoralized, almost to the point of looking deflated. "Well, he's the most interesting guy around here," he said. "Who am I gonna talk to now?"

Sima tsked, but Gad wasn't bothered, and he knew she wasn't, either. Theo made a habit of saying stuff like this just to get people's goats. Grade-A, capital-A asshole, that was Theo Derensky, but loath as he probably was to accept it about himself, parties like this just showed how generous he was, too.

Really, his generosity was such that he would probably feed the bums off the streets. Family members of the current bums were most likely included. Gad wished his parents would get off their sunburnt heinies and accept his open invitation to Theo's summer parties already, but Gavriel and Ilana Rabin had been whooping it up in South Florida for the better part of the last decade with a bunch of other eccentric geezers in even uglier Hawaiian shirts than Theo's.

"Oh, for…" Theo growled. Gad followed his gaze to find Dwight Feldman and Noah Reisberg stumbling out of the house, leaning on each other. He couldn't be sure without his glasses on, but it looked like Dwight's shirt was inside out and what Galil would call his "front door" was hanging halfway open. "What's with those fucking attention hogs?"

"No idea," Gad said, watching Noah wipe his mouth. It was true that Dwight and/or Noah had a tendency to break up conversations, including but not limited to the recent ass incident and the time Oreet brought a bunch of what she thought were "Noah's glow-in-the-dark balloons" to Hillel to play with during dinner.

"People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones," said Sima.

"What do you mean?" Gad asked. "He's not the one who's gone around putting Dwight's _beitzim_ in his mouth."

Sima shrugged. "Point taken, but look." She pointed at the nearest corner of the yard, where Theo kept a massive trampoline that Galil had bounced on for at least twenty minutes when they first got here. The trampoline had been empty for a while, but it was now occupied with two extremely giggly Adler-Derenskys – parents, not children. Vince's face was the kind of fire-engine red that suggested at least three beers in recent consumption.

"Well, sure," Gad said, "but at least they're fully clothed." It looked like the two of them were whispering salacious things to each other, what with the way they laughed. As he watched, both of their sons (with the Inappropriate Shit Going On Here radar that all children seemed to have built in) dive-bombed the trampoline hard enough to nearly knock Vince over the edge.

Sima pursed her lips, an amused look on her face. "Nice family," she said.

"Attention hogs," Gad said, but he agreed with her. They _were_ a nice family, sometimes better than his own to the outsider's eye. Really, if attention hogging was Theo's criterion for exclusion, a massive Rabin descent on the Derensky property wasn't going to happen any time in the near future. Just living in New England had made Dad, kibbutz-born and raised, a grouchy pain in the neck. On the flip side, Gad did wonder how Mom handled the heat in Florida without driving Dad up the wall. Whenever the whole family went back to see Sima's parents, second-generation Israelis that they were, she complained for days.

It went without saying that family gatherings – in which Mom and her American-via-Israel-via-Central Europe history had absolutely nothing in common with the Hitler-free lives of _Saba_ and _Savta_ Aaronovich – were a little awkward. He wasn't looking forward to Galil's bar mitzvah one bit.

" _Cannonball!_ " Caleb screamed as he pole-vaulted over his outstretched arms into the center of the trampoline.

 _Especially_ not if those two were invited.

"Hey!" Theo shouted, hands on hips. "Dee, that thing wasn't cheap."

"What," his sister yelled back, just as red-faced as her husband, "the trampoline or Vince's junk?" She and Vince glanced at each other and, as Gad watched, burst into uncontrollable giggles, squeezing their sons between them.

"How much has she had to drink again?" Sima said.

"I can answer that," Boaz Budin called from a neighboring conversation cluster. "Wait, I…hmm." He held up a fist and put his fingers up one by one, frowning in concentration. "Nope, can't remember."

"Hilarious, Boaz," Theo said in a tone that suggested he didn't find it hilarious at all. "She had two beers or something. Dee's a lightweight."

"Dad, what's a lightweight?" Damn. Galil. Why did kids always have to appear whenever it was least convenient?

"Where'd you come from, Galli?" Gad asked. It was the best stall he could think of on the fly. "You get tired of _miskhakim_ already?"

"A little." Galil yawned. He'd obviously been picking at the food when Gad wasn't looking, since his T-shirt had ridden up to expose his round belly. When he was younger, Gad had been able to pick him up and blow raspberries in his navel, and Galil had squealed with laughter every time. He wasn't to the teenage avoidance stage yet, but Gad still missed those days. "Phil and Caleb stopped playing _v'Oreet lo rotzah_."

"I think they're probably going to come back," Gad observed. Dinah and Vince had moved on from giggling to some very enthusiastic kissing, and both of the boys looked so disgusted that he wouldn't have been surprised to see one of them projectile vomit just to make a point. It was the kind of thing they'd do.

"Quit with the PDA!" Theo, of course. Not even getting some on the regular, it seemed, could make the man loosen up.

Dinah looked up from her latest kiss, curly black hair disheveled and dark eyes still half-shut. Vince's stubble had left beard burn on both cheeks, her upper lip, and most of her chin. "Oh, go fart in a phone booth," she said, then burst into shrieking laughter all over again. Vince, for his part, just looked goofily up at her with an expression like she'd just taken the bright July sun out of the muggy blue sky and hung the moon there instead.

Gad shook his head. Behavior like that from the parents of preteen boys? It was times like these that he remembered just how young Dinah was, a full twelve years younger than him. If he recalled, she'd had Phil only a year or so out of college, so maybe that had robbed her of her last chance to act like a child.

Then, Theo himself wasn't any better. Although Gad didn't speak much Yiddish, he understood enough to tell that what Theo was saying to his sister right now was unfit for any company that even pretended to be polite. He just prayed Galil hadn't been listening the last time Mom yakked to some friend over the phone in her rudest Yiddish about the results of Dad's latest prostate exam.

"Jesus, Theo, lighten up," Dinah said. It would have been obvious at a thousand paces that she was rolling her eyes to the heavens. "No one's here but us Jews, anyway. Where's that asshole neighbor of yours?"

Theo looked out across the fence, as if only now remembering that his neighbors existed. "Oh, yeah, Mortensen. I think he barricades himself inside on the Fourth."

"I can't imagine why," Gad couldn't resist commenting. He loved these parties, he loved his family, and he loved Galil, but he had to admit that the whole thing was a little ear-splitting. Galil's tiredness was a bit of a blessing right now, because Gad didn't hold out much hope that his son would remember to shush up and he didn't want to have to be a Punishment Dad on his day off.

"Dad," Galil said, almost like he was reading Gad's thoughts, "I'm bored."

Gad sighed and looked around the yard, inadvertently catching Boaz Budin's eye. Boaz tipped the brim of his baseball cap, white with a pattern of red and blue stars on it, and waved at him. "Go play with Trayf, then. I'm going to go mingle."

"I'll come, too," Theo said. He clapped Galil's back. "Galil, you want to go find Phil and Caleb? I bet they'd want to throw a ball for Trayf."

Galil narrowed his eyes at Theo. The expression made him look uncannily like his mother. "Why?"

"What," Theo said, wide-eyed, "you've never been over to the Reisbergs' house before?"

"No." Galil's expression softened just a little and his thick red brows unknit, melting a little into curiosity. Gad had to hand it to Theo; he was a fantastic fun uncle, even with kids who weren't his nephews. Not a whole lot could make Galil loosen up when he was getting into a mood. "Oreet's older than me."

"Then you missed out. Trayf's hilarious when he's running around."

"How's he hilarious?" Galil said.

Theo pursed his lips. "Hm. You ever see a dog hang its head out a car window?"

"Just in the movies."

"Trayf's like that," Theo said, "except even funnier. His tongue hangs out of his mouth and he makes a really weird face, and he starts barking. And today he's all wet, so he might scatter water all over everything and make your uncle mad."

"No _way!_ " Galil's brown eyes lit up and his round cheeks went even rounder with a smile. "Does he drool?"

Theo nodded. "Like a fire hydrant." He pointed at Trayf, currently lounging half-in and half-out of his pool and panting. "Even weirder face than that one, too."

"Cool!" Galil grabbed Gad's hand. "Dad, can I go throw a ball for Trayf?"

"Sure, if Dr. Derensky can find you a ball," Gad said. He was _not_ bestirring himself to go home in this heat.

"Ask Dwight," Theo said with a jerk of his thumb towards the food table. Gad looked where he was pointing, only to see Dwight raiding the tray of watermelon. His beard was already full of seeds and dripping with pink pulp. "He knows how to get into my garage. I'm sure I got a football in there or something."

"Thanks," Galil said, and then he was off like a shot, yelling " _Dwight!_ "

"Yeah, thanks," Gad muttered to Theo as they walked over to Boaz.

"No problem. He was getting that 'bored' look," Theo said, his voice just as low. "Figured you needed help."

"All the help I can get," Gad said. If he could get Theo to baby-sit after Sima had the baby, that would be – well, no, he couldn't go counting his chickens before the eggs were even born. He glanced up at the sky and fervently, silently prayed that the Evil Eye couldn't hear thoughts. Mom's Ashkenazi teachings had stuck more than he would have liked them to.

"Glad to see ye," Boaz said when Gad and Theo reached him. Benny was there, too, nursing a chicken wing on a paper plate, but Bram was nowhere to be seen. "How's things?"

"Good," Gad said. "Where's your cousin?"

"Inside," Benny answered as Boaz opened his mouth, "playing with the cat."

"Right." Boaz reached over and mussed the hair around his brother's bald spot, making Benny squawk. "Thanks for that, Ben. I could've said it myself."

"Oh!" Benny put his plate down on the grass, so carefully that it made Gad grin, then put his hands on his hips. "What'd I do t'be saddled with a brother like this? Really!"

Boaz put his arm around Benny's shoulders and gave him a clearly affectionate squeeze. "Just got the bad luck o' the draw, Benny. Oi, Gad!" Gad blinked at the sudden change in subject, and addressee. "Where's Sima?"

"Still over there." Gad pointed to where Sima had been joined by Noah and Danny. "She's talking to the Reisbergs, I think." He had a hunch that Danny, ever on the watch for useful people as well as friends, was asking Sima about her career. His wife was a jeweler ("not a jewelry designer," she'd explained to a million curious people, "a jeweler, with one of those loupes and everything!"), and that tended to attract a lot of questions. As long as Danny didn't try to get himself free stones, he supposed it was fine.

"That's good. I love both of ye, but if I had to choose, Sima's my favorite." Boaz winked. "I imagine you'd not get beard burn from shaking her hand."

"Think again," Gad said, rolling his eyes. "And you don't get beard burn from shaking _my_ hand, either."

"No," Benny said, "that'd be me." He slapped his forearms, drawing Gad's attention to how hairy they were, and how freckled, too. Both of the younger Budins, he smugly noted, burned like a tire fire as opposed to his own family of redheads, whose olive skin went ruddy and then tanned. Although Dad was the Mizrahi one, the kind of Jewish person that even the naysayers would admit had Middle Eastern blood, he had – before aging set in – hair as red as Gad's. Omer took after Mom, with thick, coarse black hair…well, used to.

"Better put on some more sunscreen, Benny," Gad advised him. "You don't want skin cancer."

"Oh, burning, am I?" Benny examined his arms more closely. "Oh, _that'll_ be a fierce burn. Thanks for the warning." Reaching into his fanny pack, he pulled out a tube and offered it to Boaz. "You first. Your face has gone all pink."

"Not _my_ fault Grandma was a convert," Boaz complained, but he took the sunscreen anyway and smeared some across his forehead, cheeks, and nose. "Done. Now do yours," he said, holding out the tube on his open palm.

"Ta." Benny took the sunscreen and began vigorously applying it to his arms. "So," he said, "how's Galil these days?"

"Growing every day," Gad said. "He'll look just like me in a few years. At least that's what Sima says." Personally, he thought Galil was more of a mix; his red hair was much darker and more auburn than Gad's own. Then, you couldn't really look for your own features objectively.

"Beard and all," Boaz put in, and twiddled the ends of his mustache between his thumbs and forefingers. It was drooping a little in the heat, and he looked a lot like a sad dachshund.

"Yeah," Theo said, "I was gonna ask you about that. Are you putting him in _peyot_ , or does he just have sideburns already?" Although Galil was no longer nearby, he squinted off into the distance, as if performing a critical analysis of his face.

Gad shrugged. "Family trait," he said.

"Hormone problems?" Benny asked. "We've got a bit of that."

"No, just really hairy," Gad answered. "We're super-Jewish. You should see me with my shirt off." Sima called the entity on his chest either 'the welcome mat' or 'the red carpet', and had on more than one occasion threatened to shave 'NO SOLICITORS' into it with an electric razor while he slept.

"Ew," said Theo. "No thanks."

Who the hell was he to cast aspersions? "Says the man with the Black Forest of body hair."

"Yeah, I like it on _me_." Theo stroked the chest hair visible above the top of his shirt buttons in a very Hugh Hefner-like way. "Not attracted to it on other guys, and besides, you're married."

"And we're all very fond of Sima," Boaz said.

"What?" Gad grinned. "Are you saying you'd take a whack at me if I were single? Didn't know you were interested in men, Boaz."

"Nah, only takin' the piss." Boaz yawned, then stretched his arms over his head and cracked his joints with one _pop_ after the other. "Sorry, been up since the arse-crack of dawn. My arms are killing."

From the smell of things, he'd forgotten deodorant, too, but Gad decided commenting on it would probably be a bad idea. "Did you open the store today?"

"Nah, 's'a national holiday," Boaz said. "Just brought Theo over some cases for the party."

"Oh, so _that's_ where the beer came from," Gad said. "Good stuff, Boaz." He probably should have guessed. From the story he'd heard, Boaz had been pretty damn poor when he bought his liquor store from the previous owner, but he still only sprung for the best-quality drinks and it showed in how many customers he had. Bo'z Booze, the store with the cheesiest name Gad had ever seen or heard, was one of the more profitable places in town.

"Thanks very much." Boaz's smile turned a little self-satisfied. "I can lift the cases with one hand if I've got to. M'arms don't like it, though."

"No," said Gad, and patted his own biceps in sympathy, "I can imagine." His was the kind of body that tended to build blocky muscle without concerted weight-lifting. Running after Galil was a full-time job, anyway, one that didn't lend itself to spare time that could be channeled into body-building. Lexington was a walking town, too, so that helped his heart rate.

"How many have _you_ had, Boaz?" Theo said. "Because if we run out, I can't legally let you drive to the store and get more. You know, if you're too drunk."

"It's just illegal for me to drive," Boaz disagreed, shaking his head. "It's not illegal for you to _let_ me drive."

"That can't possibly be right," Gad said. "Doesn't it make you an accessory or something? They'll get on you about civic duties."

Theo's brow was so deeply furrowed that his eyebrows practically disappeared into his eyelashes. "I think Danny knows better than any of us."

"Then you'd better not let me drive drunk, eh?" Boaz tapped Theo's bottle of beer. "And don't drink all of that if y'don't want to run out."

Theo directed his frown at the bottle and took a gulp. "Good call," he said, wiping his mouth. "I better make sure the beer doesn't run out."

There were a specific set of circumstances, Gad thought, under which this kind of bizarrely circular conversation could take place. Parties were great for that. You were just tipsy enough to have a philosophical conversation about the sauce, but sober enough that your mind tried (and failed) to make a complete logic circuit. He shoved a piece of watermelon into his mouth to disguise his quiet laugh at the fact that Theo was _also_ just drunk enough to admit that someone knew more about a subject than he did.

"Now," Boaz said, a proprietary index finger stuck up in the air, "I'll have the store open _tomorrow_. You can have free beer if y' stand there in the doorway and scare away the sons of bitches who started coming 'round."

"What'd they do, demand too many free samples?" Theo asked.

"Nah, it's worse." Boaz grimaced. "Skinheads. Anti-Semites. And they know damn well who they're dealing with, because I've got _Boaz Budin, Proprietor_ up on the wall, bold as you please."

Theo bristled, and Gad could feel himself doing so as well. His hands clenched into fists at his side – no one messed with a Jew in his presence and got away with it. "Did they try anything with you?" Theo said.

"No, but I imagine they would've if I hadn't had Galion working that day, and he's a witness an' all even if he's drunk," Boaz replied. "Both of them blonder than hell. Brothers, I think. And one of 'em had tattoos of…" He stopped short. "Tattoos of stuff I don't want to talk about," he said in a quieter voice, "even with you."

Theo patted Boaz's shoulder. "Understood," he said. "You think they're local?"

"Doubt it. I saw their car. Had a 'Live Free or Die' sticker." Boaz pursed his lips. "Unless I miss my guess, that's New Hampshire, not Massachusetts."

"New Hampshire?" Theo repeated. "And you said they're brothers?"

"Can't be sure," Boaz said with a noncommittal shrug. "I only got one of their credit cards. But yeah, I think so."

"The car they drive wouldn't happen to be red, would it?"

"Think so."

"Then I think I know who they are," Theo said. He turned and raised one hand high over his head, aiming his middle finger at the house next door as if in demonstration. "They're Mortensen's great-nephews."

"Your neighbor has great-nephews?" Gad said. Theo talked enough vague shit about the guy next door that he supposed he'd sort of assumed that he was a hermit who did nothing but occasionally venture out from under a bridge to make people pay tolls. Gad had never even seen the man.

"Yeah, from his Swedish side or his German side or his whatever-the-fuck side," Theo said. His narrowed eyes were still firmly fixed on his neighbor's house. "They've come out here a couple summers in a row. I think they got scholarships to UNH, live with their grandmother or something."

"Are they tall?" Boaz asked. "Bit bulky? I'm betting one of 'em lifts."

"Yup," Theo said, nodding, "those are the guys. I saw them mowing Mortensen's lawn once. I said hi, and they just glared at me and grunted like…like brain-damaged _Homo erectus_. Erectuses. Whatever." He ran the fingers of one hand through his beard.

"If they've discovered the booze around here, that's not good," Gad said. "Boaz, what's your profit margin this year?" Ugh, even on his day off, an accountant's job was never done.

Boaz scratched the back of his head under his cap. "Fiscal year's not done yet, but I think it's higher than last year."

"Good. Use it. Get Galion in there every day, no matter if he's drunk. Hire another part-timer if you have to," Gad told him. Dwight could probably tell them where to hire some bodyguards…they could all chip in a little…Boaz shouldn't have to deal with this alone. "Don't set foot in that store unless you have backup."

"You know, I bet Noah'd do it for a discount," Theo mused. "You wouldn't have to worry about him stealing the stash, either. Danny would take his head off."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Boaz said. "Noah's tiny."

"Better than him sitting around all day, giving Dwight blow jobs in other people's spare bedrooms," Theo said. Gad somehow doubted that either Dwight or Noah was ever going to hear the end of that. "And Noah's sneaky. I think he keeps a shiv in his hair."

"It's two shivs, and I blew him in the master bedroom," said Noah, whom Gad had noticed steadily creeping (in the literal and metaphorical sense) behind Theo for about the past ten seconds.

"What the _nipplefuck!_ " Theo spun around so fast that his whirling hair hit Noah in the face.

Noah gasped, cringed, and vigorously rubbed his eyes with his fingers. "Ow! Ow, fuck, Theo!" His eyes were red and watery by the time he finished scrubbing them and took his fingers away, and his eyeliner was so smudged that he looked like a raccoon, attitude of casual thievery and all. "That hurt, you douche."

"I'd just like to point out that that's your fault for sneaking up behind him," Gad said.

"Up yours," Noah said with a huff through his nose and a crooked half-smirk. "I surprised him, not you."

"Were you there long enough to hear this lot talking about offering you a job?" Boaz asked. "Because I think it's a good idea, if you'd be reliable about it."

Noah chewed on his lower lip. "Would I get free samples during work hours?"

"Oh, sure, within reason," Boaz said. His unruly mustache hid part of his smile, but the lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes made Gad think that he'd be a little more lenient with Noah taking liberties with his stockroom than most would.

"Wait a second," Theo broke in, "what the hell? Did you just tell me you blew Dwight in my room?"

Noah nodded. "Sure did."

Theo clenched his teeth and growled deep in his throat. "That settles it. You're never getting invited back here again, you _or_ Dwight." He paused and seemed to consider for a moment. "Not unless you bring pizza. And get on your knees and apologize – I mean – goddammit!" he interrupted himself as Noah started laughing. "I mean apologize like your life depends on it! Get that look off your face, Noah. You too, Boaz."

Noah chortled. "No way, Theo. That's going down in history."

"Got to agree with him," Boaz said. He wiped a tear away from his eye, but whether it was real or an affectation, Gad couldn't begin to guess. You couldn't really tell with Boaz, figurative class clown that he was.

"Hey, Theo?" It was Dwight, holding up a half-deflated football that looked like it had seen both better days and worse. "Is this okay to give to the kids? I went through your garage and it's the only ball you have."

"Yeah, that's fine," said Theo.

"You didn't take Galil with you, did you?" Gad asked. "He gets croupy when he's around too much dust." He needed to have Galil tested for asthma one of these days. It was getting to be a problem when he did his weekend chores.

Dwight shook his head. "Just me. The kids are out in the front yard." Faintly, Gad heard the sound of Trayf barking, which probably meant that all the kids were having fun winding him up. He'd rarely met a better-natured dog.

"I'd go give 'em the ball, in that case," Theo said. "They'll start getting antsy if you let them stand around too long."

"Got it," Dwight said, and left.

"Should I go supervise?" Gad asked Theo. "Galil's usually the ringleader if someone decides they want to pull pranks."

"Yes," said Theo dryly, "I remember. He was the one who rubber-banded my sink sprayer so it'd get me when I turned on the faucet." He turned his head in the direction of the empty trampoline. "No, yeah, I think Vince is out there. You can stay here if you want."

"Good." Running after his own kid was bad enough. Phil and Caleb? He'd probably lose it and end up roaring at some squirt within about five minutes, and then he'd get an earful from the parents of whomever he'd made cry. Or brother, if it was Oreet, and Danny was worse than just about any other parent he'd met.

"So what have I got to do to keep safe?" Boaz said, breaking the several seconds of stereotypically contemplative man-silence that followed.

"Right," said Theo. "Hire Noah. You got the money for a security system?"

"We've already got a security system, you eejit," Boaz said. "That's precious cargo I'm selling."

"Oh." Theo seemed momentarily stumped. "Okay, then upgrade it. Gad, would you be willing to do some consultation on the store? During the work day, I mean. This is kind of – I feel like we're going to miss something."

"Sure. Free for friends." Gad slapped Boaz five. "I can come down there sometime this week. Just give me a call and tell me when's good."

"Will do, soon's I've got my social calendar on me." Boaz took a drink of beer.

"Mr. Rabin?" There was a tap on his arm. Gad blinked, surprised, down at Oreet Reisberg. "Mr. Rabin," she repeated, "I'm sorry I interrupted, but Galil threw the ball into the street."

Of course he did. Galil was going to get a stern talking-to later if Gad had anything to say about it. "Tell him to sit tight," he answered. "I'll go over and get it back for you in a few minutes. Thanks for telling me."

"You're welcome." Oreet smiled. She was such a sweet kid, Gad thought, and it was a nice smile; she should show it more often. If he had an overbearing brother and one with a criminal record, though, he might not want to smile himself.

"Reety?" Noah beckoned her over with a mischievous look in his eyes that Gad recognized far too well. He was right, too. When Oreet took a few steps in her brother's direction, he grabbed her and gave her a noogie. "Gotcha, squirt!"

" _Noah!_ " Oreet cried out between giggles. "Noah! I – I said don't – Noah, knock it off!"

"Okay, have it your way." Noah released her and brought his hands up. "Resistance is futile, Reety."

Oreet frowned at him. "It's _Ori_ , Noah. I hate stupid Reety."

"Ori, then." Noah kissed the top of her head. "Go give 'em hell." She nodded at him, rare smile back on her freckled face, and ran out of sight. "Danny _needs_ to stop cutting her fuckin' hair," he added once she'd gone.

"I think the chili-bowl look was a failure the first time Mom tried it on me," Theo said with an emphatic nod. "It doesn't work with Jewish hair."

"I just hope Danny doesn't get to her too much, or she'll end up like –" Noah began. It was all he had the chance to say before a scream from the front yard drowned out what he was going to say next.

Gad's heart abruptly stopped beating. That was Galil's voice, and it was terrified. _I'm sorry I interrupted, but Galil threw the ball into the street._. Before he knew it, he was already halfway around the side of the house, stumbling over the fat tufts of unmown grass, panting, his armpits and palms running with cold sweat.

The scene in the front yard was the picture of chaos. Gad's eyes darted from side to side: Phil, Caleb, Oreet, Trayf all accounted for – and there was his son. "Galil!" he shouted. Galil stopped mid-scream from where he was inexplicably kneeling on the sidewalk and half-ran, half-tripped his way to him.

" _Aba_ ," he said, and Gad knelt and swept him up into the tightest hug he could give him.

" _Ma osah?_ " he demanded, slipping fully into the Hebrew of his childhood. Galil shivered in his arms. " _M'daber oti, Galil, akhshav!_ "

" _Aba_ ," Galil repeated.

"What did you do?" Gad said, pulling himself back to English with difficulty. "Did you run into the street? Don't you _ever!_ " He squeezed Galil even tighter.

" _Aba_ ," Galil sobbed. Gad stopped short and pulled back to look him in the face. "I didn't, _Aba_ , I didn't m-mean to, V-Vince…Vince…" He hiccupped and buried his face in Gad's beard.

"Shhh, Galli. It's okay." Gad rubbed his back, but Galil was inconsolable. His hands grabbed for Gad's beard, just as they had done when he was only hours old and Sima called Gad _Aba_ for the first time.

Galil got out the word "Vince" again between wails. What on Earth, Gad wondered, did he keep saying his name for? Had Vince said something to scare him? No way was he going to stand for that.

"My God." The voice was Sima's. Gad looked away from the top of Galil's head to see his wife with her hand over her mouth and her eyes wide, staring over Gad without moving a muscle.

"Galil's okay," he said, but it didn't change the look on her face. "What's going on –" And then the pieces slammed together so fast that his stomach dropped down to the wet grass beneath him. Slowly, reluctantly, he followed her gaze. "Vince, oh _God_."

But it was a stupid thing to say, he realized immediately. Vince wasn't going to be able to hear him, or answer. He lay sprawled over the curb half a block away, streaked with blood, and he wasn't moving.

 **Notes:**

Also on Tumblr at .com .

All I can say, guys, is I'm sorry.

Glossary  
 _kvetch_ : complain (Yiddish)  
 _Faldi faldonza:_ the made-up expression of surprise from the movie _The Princess and the Frog_  
 _Bli ayin hara_ : without the evil eye - colloq. "may the evil eye not hurt me" (Hebrew)  
 _Tuchus_ : bottom (Yiddish)  
 _Sheket b'vakasha_ : quiet, please (Hebrew)  
 _Aba_ : Dad (Hebrew)  
 _Y'khol lalekhet_ : can I go? (Hebrew)  
 _Saba_ and _Savta_ : Grandpa and Grandma (Hebrew)  
 _miskhakim_ : games (Hebrew)  
 _v'Oreet lo rotzah_ : and Oreet doesn't want to (Hebrew)  
 _beitzim_ : eggs, colloq. "balls" (Hebrew)  
 _Peyot_ : sidecurls, worn by some Orthodox Jewish male children (Yiddish pronunciation is _peyes_ )  
 _Ma osah?_ : what did [you] do? (Hebrew)  
 _M'daber oti, akhshav_ : talk to me, now (Hebrew)


	9. O Daughters of Jerusalem

She could hear everything and see almost nothing, even with her neck turned as far as it could go to look into the back of the ambulance. Vince was lying back there behind the partition, and the beeps of some kind of monitor in the back of the ambulance combined with the occasional quiet whimper had twisted Dinah's stomach into a fancy knot.

Sima had been the one to call 911, of course, and Benny started CPR as soon as he arrived in the front yard. It should have been Dee. She'd been too busy standing there with her mouth open to call a fucking ambulance for her own husband or to even try to protect his body from falling to pieces. Phil and Caleb had screamed, begged, and tugged at her arms, and for all their effort, it had been like they were tugging tree branches; she was still as stone. She couldn't move or speak, or do anything but stare at Vince face-down in the road.

"Hold still, sir," she heard one of the paramedics in the back of the ambulance say. "I'm gonna put in an IV now, okay?" His voice was soft, obviously meant to soothe. Dinah choked on a laugh. What did it matter if he soothed or if he swore, if Vince couldn't hear him or answer with one of his usual quips? A sound that she couldn't describe came out of her throat as she twisted her neck farther to press her face against the grille dividing the front of the ambulance from the back.

It had only been the idea of being separated from him that was strong enough to thaw her. "Is there a family member?" the paramedic now driving the ambulance had called out as her partner bundled Vince onto a stretcher and securely strapped him in. A third held Vince down while he got strapped. _Looks like something Theo would use in bed_ , she remembered thinking, and after that, _Vince needs to hear me say that._ Laughter would heal him.

"Me," she'd blurted. "I'm his wife. I'm Dinah." Clumsily, she clambered up past the paramedic into the back of the ambulance. "Put me in with him."

"Ma'am, you'll need to ride in the passenger seat." The paramedic reached in and pulled her out with as little effort as Theo used to lift a hammer. "If you're going to come with us, you can't be in the back with him. It's the law."

" _No_ ," she said aloud now, snapping herself out of the memories that surrounded her.

"No what?" the driver asked.

"No…nothing." Vince was so quiet. Why wasn't he talking? No one could outshine Vince when it came to cheering people up. "Talk to him," she said. "Please. It'll make him…" Her voice faltered. "…talk back."

"Maybe he would prefer it if you talked to him," Vince's paramedic suggested.

"But I'm not there with him." Didn't he know anything? That slow, over-inflected voice, like you'd use to talk to a child, showed that he didn't understand. "I need to be – to be with him." Dee's voice tripped halfway through the sentence. It was her fault that she was up here instead of back with Vince. She hadn't fought hard enough.

"Get in the front, Dee," Theo had said. "I'll bring the boys to the ER. They'll take you to Veterans'." And she'd just obeyed. Phil and Caleb needed to be here to make Vince smile himself well again, just like he'd done to Dee when they met, and she hadn't even protested. Just told her sons to be good for their uncle and watched as they clung to Theo like a couple of pint-sized bear traps.

"I'm sure he'll understand," said the paramedic. "Just stay where you are. We'll be at the hospital soon."

Vince moaned. It was a soft sound that was barely audible in the space between puffs of oxygen from the mask they'd put on him, but she would know his voice anywhere. "Vince?" Hope swelled up in her chest, warm, making her heart pound. " _Vince!_ " Dinah twisted around as hard as she could in her seat and only succeeded in pressing the side of her face against the partition. "Vince, wake up!"

"I'm so sorry, but he's not awake," said the paramedic. "Not fully."

"False alarm," she said, then slumped forward into her seat. It was as if someone had turned off her brain for all the ability she had to control her own muscles now. Whatever insane puppet master had decided that Vince needed to get hit by a fucking car had cut her strings and his in one stroke.

The ambulance bumped over a pothole, shaking Dee in her seat. She winced, but it was nothing compared to the scream Vince let out behind her. The sound, God, she'd never heard him express that much pain. Her head hit her thighs and she found her hands clamped over her ears, although she couldn't remember putting them there.

It was hardly even effective. All three paramedics swore colorfully, the driver in at least two languages, and then she heard the telltale record-scratch discordance of a zipper being torn open, followed by various beeps and the occasional bang. "He's desaturating," a male voice from the back called out. Then, more frantically, "Fuck! Tension pneumothorax."

"Well, put in a chest tube!" his partner snapped. She wore a ponytail, Dee remembered suddenly, and it made her look no-nonsense.

"I'm trying!" There was another sound, almost a howl, from Vince, and then a loud, rhythmic, repeating sucking noise too mechanical to be human gasps. "It's in."

He was so still. Through the pressing weight of her palms, still too light to truly provide comfort, Dee could hear that he wasn't banging around like he usually was when something hurt him. "It's not right," she mumbled into her thighs, surprising herself with how unsteady her voice was. Vince was never still. Sitting, he tapped things on his bony knees, drummed his fingers, and scratched various parts. Standing, he ran. Asleep, when normal human beings were at least still if not quiet, he sprawled messily into her personal space and usually ended up with his snoring mouth next to her ear.

Her breath came in pants and she began to rock forward and back in her seat, unable to stop. Vince _had_ to wake up and realize how ridiculous this shit was. Hit by a car, when he made fun of his twitchiness and speed by saying he was the 'fastest jogger in the West' – impossible. His endless liveliness was what attracted her in the first place, her just nineteen years old with both her father and a brother dead and her mother sinking fast. Mama was the only one of her parents who lived long enough to see any of her kids fall in love, and even she was dead six months after Vince came into her life.

Theo, Vince, and the boys were all she had left. God couldn't be cruel enough to take her soul mate, the man that even her skeptical brother said was _beshert_ with her. It couldn't happen. No, no –

"Please calm down," said the driver.

" – no, no, no…!" Dinah snapped her mouth shut. The words had escaped her through the thick leaden torpor that weighed down her entire body. Vince would say she was cracking up, talking without realizing it. _Dang, Dee, sleep much?_. Her throat abruptly tightened.

"Will he die?" The question came out high and quivery. With a start, she realized that she sounded exactly like Caleb when thunder was booming outside. "Please, will you tell me?" _Suck it up!_ her own voice screamed inside her head. She was thirty-four years old and a motherfucking mother. She'd made it through Phil's meningitis scare; she had to get through this without dissolving into a pile of blubber.

"We're doing everything we can." The paramedic's tone was so patronizing that Dinah suspected he probably would have given her a condescending pat on the head if she weren't curled up. She'd watched enough fucking Grey's Anatomy with Benny Budin to know what happened next: someone flatlined and the medical professional in charge leaped around, gasping instructions until the state of flatlining became permanent. Then that same soft, daycare-aide-esque voice was used to deliver the bad news via the worst clichés in the world.

A shiver went through her, raising goosebumps on her arms and legs. "You better," she whispered against the fabric of her shorts. "Fuckin' better."

The ambulance made a sharp turn and came to a halt. "We're here," said the driver. "Do you need help getting out, Mrs. Adler?"

"Adler-Derensky. It's _Ms_." Something had to be correct in this messed-up situation. "And I got it." Dinah unbuckled, unfolded herself from her stony little ball of uselessness, and opened the ambulance door with a shaking hand. Her head spun from the rapid change in position and she dropped down onto the asphalt – nearly falling, really. Whether it was the broiling heat or her own state of mind, everything looked drawn in wavery lines. "Vince? Where are you?"

The paramedics' shouts alerted her. They were bringing Vince, still on his stretcher, down from the back of the ambulance as quickly and efficiently as they'd bundled him into it. As she watched, they brought him down the last couple of feet and began walking him across the remainder of the parking lot at a pace she could only call 'frantic,' or maybe 'power walk.' No wonder. He was an absolute mess.

The knot in Dee's stomach did a flip, and she ran towards the paramedics as quickly as she could. Her flip-flops slapped against the pavement. "Wait!" she shouted. "Vince!" The paramedics didn't stop, but it was a short distance and she had her hands clamped around the plastic piece nearest his head within a few seconds. "Oh my _God_." They hadn't been lying – his blood-stained T-shirt, which pre-injury had borne a handpainted "MONKEY'S UNCLE" graphic on it courtesy of Benny, was torn aside and there was a goddamn tube sticking up out of his chest. She felt the brief, insane urge to knock aside the little bellows-like thing that was attached to the tube and blow into it, just to see if it would make him twitch.

"Ma'am!" One of the paramedics from the back of the ambulance pulled her away. "We have to get him triaged. I'm sorry, but you can't be in the way."

" _Bullfuck_ I can't," she snapped, and jogged a few steps forward to catch up with the moving stretcher again. That was one of Theo's swears and it was usually effective as a result of how disconcerting it was. This time, though, all she got was a set of dirty looks in triplicate. "He's my husband!"

No one answered her this time, probably because they moved through an open set of double doors and once again, the atmosphere abruptly flipped. Suddenly, there were people pushing her roughly out of the way and yelling things to each other so quickly that she could barely pick up a word. "Vince?" she said, her voice so small compared to the mushroom cloud of babble that was blowing up around her, and then she saw a familiar face. " _Bill!_ "

"Dear God," Bill Baggins said, his eyes locked with hers and his hands frozen halfway to the medical staff-inflicted stab wound in Vince's chest. How had she forgotten that he was going to be here?

"Bill, Vince got hit by a car," Dinah said. The simplicity of the statement seemed so incredibly absurd that she almost wanted to laugh.

"Shite, yeah, I see that," Bill said. His tone was just as weirdly conversational as that of the words she'd heard coming out of her own mouth, like they were having a conversation about Vince scraping his knee while he went to get a Band-Aid. Someone shoved him from the side while pressing closer to the stretcher, and he flinched. "How on Earth did that happen?"

"Bill, you know this woman?" asked the shover, a tall, blonde woman who looked way too skinny to do her job, whatever that might be. Her wavy hair was half-up in a bun, and a piece of it fell down to bracket the side of her face.

"Remember what I told you about Theo?" Bill said.

"Yeah."

Bill pointed to Dinah. "His sister."

The blonde woman nodded. "Okay, then, you're off the case."

Bill looked affronted. "Come on, Gil –"

"No," the woman interrupted as she took a packet of what looked like sterile tools and handed it off to some doctor in a white coat. Bill was shaking his head. "No, Bill, this is non-negotiable. I'm pulling the boss card," she said, glaring at him. He began to protest again, and she snapped at him. "Bill! Shut up! You want a write-up for unprofessional behavior? Believe me, I'm saving your ass. You'll fall apart if you stay on this guy's case."

"I can be perfectly professional!" Bill said.

"Yeah, _usually_. Not with – oh, fuck…" Gil whirled around, suddenly entangled in the morass of people milling around and (from what Dinah could see) working on Vince. "Bill, take her to the waiting room," she ordered over her shoulder.

"You're not going to let me stay with him?" Dinah burst out, the stupor that had surrounded her the whole ambulance ride dissolving. An ambulance was one thing, but they were _not_ shuffling her off to some other wing. "Okay, no, that's not happening."

"Ma'am, your husband has suffered some serious internal trauma," said Gil. Her face was hard, at least in the few moments when she looked away from Vince long enough to look at Dinah. "He needs to be examined right now!" she shouted over the voice of a doctor. If Vince's condition was a storm, then they were definitely in the eye; it felt weird to be so detached. The lethargy was threatening to return again, and Dee pinched herself in the stomach to try to combat it. Immediately, she felt her forehead start beading up with sweat.

"I'm not going," she said. Her voice came out a lot more quavery than she intended.

"Dinah, it's the law," Bill said, and took her arm with his brows apologetically furrowed. "You can't be in the operating room while –"

"He needs _surgery?_ "

"Yes, of course. Come on." He pulled on her arm. She stumbled backward, unwillingly following him; the puppet feeling was back, but this time, it was Bill pulling the strings. "I'll take you to the waiting room," he added, leading her towards another set of gray-painted double doors. "Come on, there's a coffee machine and I'll…" _Fuck this shit_. She wasn't going to bother to hear the rest of that inane sentence. Dinah wrenched away from his arm as hard as she could and ran. " _Dinah!_ "

"No!" she shouted, nearly a scream. Vince wasn't in the same place; where did they take him? Frantically, she darted her eyes around until they lit on the stretcher being rolled into a room off the main emergency room, trailed by that retinue of people. She didn't know them and Vince didn't know them, so they couldn't possibly help him, could they? "Vince…" This time, his name came out broken.

"I need Mark over here," Bill called behind her. He had to bring in reinforcements. Good. Vince was going to laugh his ass off when he heard about this. Dinah jogged towards the closing door of the small room, behind which she could already hear a flurry of voices again. There were shadows moving behind the frosted glass pane set into the door, but she couldn't see what the hell they were doing back there.

"Let me in!" she shouted, banging on the glass pane with both fists. She probably couldn't break it, but she could make this really flipping inconvenient for everyone who was keeping her from the man she loved less than only her sons. If she gave up now, she'd be letting Phil and Caleb down most of all. "Open this door or I'll put my fist through it!"

Before she could attempt and fail to make good on that threat, a strong arm had her around the stomach and its owner was lifting her off the ground. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but if you can't let the doctors work, you're going to have to leave," her captor said.

"Thanks, Mark," said Bill, the traitor, from his new position on her right. Dinah would have growled at him like a dog if she were able to do it without sounding ridiculous. As it were, she settled for baring her teeth at him and kicking Mark in the shins while he dragged her to the double doors, away from Vince and away from any source of information she could have found.

She debated screaming as well as kicking and then decided, as the doors opened and she was carried into a waiting room that looked way too pedestrian for its macabre purpose, that embarrassing herself more was probably a bad idea. "Thanks," she muttered instead as Mark, who turned out to be tall, black, dreadlocked, and _extremely_ gorgeous, set her down in one of the uncomfortable chairs near the entrance.

"Now look," said Bill as he put his hand on her shoulder, "Gilly's usually more reasonable than that. I'm going to try to get back on Vince's case for you, all right?"

"Yeah." Dinah rested her chin in her hands and her elbows on her thighs. It would probably have been rude to say _What's the use?_ , so she kept her mouth shut for lack of anything nicer to tell Bill.

"Don't you lose hope on me." Bill knelt in front of her and looked into her eyes, an intense expression etched deeply into the furrow of his brow and the set of his jaw. "I'll do the best I can for you."

Dinah nodded. "Go, Bill. Go back to work." She felt so drained. Curling up and going to sleep like a baby sounded like a very good idea just then, even though the chair's plastic arms made a piss-poor substitute for a parent's loving arms.

"I'll leave you alone," Bill said softly, and walked back through the doors to the emergency room, which swung behind him like the veil from _Harry Potter_. Dee could only pray that there wasn't a similar divide between life and death in the emergency room versus the waiting room. Somehow, though, she doubted that God was listening. If your fucked-up need for a jolly made you send a car where no car should be, you probably had no desire to listen to your victim's wife complaining.

She folded her arms over her thighs and rested her head on them, shivering. Whether that was from some kind of shock or from Mark having set her down under the air-conditioning vent, she didn't know. The hairs on her forearms stood up either way and wouldn't go down, rub them as she might with her still-sweaty forehead. Briefly, she wondered how it was possible to be sweaty and goosebumped at the same time. Shock? Yeah, it had to be shock. Bill would know – but Bill wasn't here anymore, either.

This was giving her a cramp. Dinah drew her legs up onto the chair and wrapped her arms around her calves, then rested her head on her lifted thighs. That was better, like she was really curled up somewhere far away from here. Although she was still shivering, now she could press her torso up against her legs and try to get rid of some of the goosebumps. That and close her eyes. The lights in the waiting room were way too bright.

"Dee? You asleep?" Theo's voice. What was Theo doing here? The last she'd seen, he was still at his house with Phil and Caleb.

"Not anymore," Dinah said. The words came out slurred through a cottony mouth and half-numb lips. She rearranged herself into a seating position and gritted her teeth, then shaded her eyes and squinted up at Theo. "Fuck. Cramp. When'd you get here?"

"About thirty seconds ago. I brought the boys," Theo said. Well, that much was obvious. Caleb had both arms around Theo's waist – God only knew how her brother had walked, with that kind of load – and tear tracks down his cheeks, while Phil clung, stony-faced, to one of his hands.

Dinah rubbed her dry, itchy eyes with her palms. "Just the boys?" She knew their Hillel friends. If none of them had shown up, she'd eat her hat. Nonetheless, her sons had to be her primary concern right now. "Philly, Caley, you should sit down. We'll be here for a while."

Phil slowly, and with obvious reluctance, let go of Theo's hand and took the seat next to Dinah. Caleb continued to cling, to the point that Theo had to physically lift him into his lap to sit down himself. "Mom," Caleb said, sounding millimeters from a crying fit, "is Dad dead?"

"Don't talk like that, buddy," Theo cut in before Dinah could answer. She shot him a grateful look; older brothers were the best antidote to the worst questions kids could spit out. "I'm sure your dad's getting taken care of. Right, Dee?"

" _Thanks a lot_ ," she hissed under her breath while Caleb wiped his face, then took her younger son's sticky hands in her own. "Caleb, your uncle is right. Dad is right back there." The image of the veil unexpectedly popped back up in her head as she pointed to the doors to the emergency room. "He has to have some operations." It had to be some cruel irony, she thought, that she'd read that particular volume of the series to Phil and Caleb just a month ago. The stuff of bedtime stories might become the stuff of nightmares, and the brothers Grimm would likely be pretty proud.

"He's not gonna die, right?" Caleb asked. Oh, God, those huge brown eyes were going to just kill her. Dinah felt her lip wobble and, thinking fast, faked a hiccup to hide it.

"They're doing everything they can to make sure that doesn't happen," she said. Her heart cracked a little at the look on Caleb's sweet little face, but she couldn't lie to him. Probably a consequence of her childhood, when Theo had tried (and failed, through no fault of his own) to protect her as well as he could from the hells their parents had gone through.

"But I don't _want_ Dad to die!" Caleb cried. A few people around them looked up, including the Rabins, minus Omer, a few rows of chairs away. All right, so _that_ was where they'd parked themselves. Poor Galil looked to have fallen asleep on his father's lap, and Sima was petting his messy red hair.

"Caley, shhhh," Dinah said. Come to think of it, holding her own kid might not be a bad way to get him to shut up until they had a definitive answer. "Come here and sit in my lap." She held out her arms, and Caleb immediately clambered over Theo's legs – provoking an "Oof!" from the uncle in question – and onto Dinah's, hiding his wet face in her neck.

"Mommy," he said, "don't let him die. Please?"

"Sweetie, believe me, I'm trying." Dinah began to pet his sweat-matted curls. She was pretty sure that he had the right idea; a good fucking cry would probably do her some good right about now. Not for the first time, she wondered why his emotional demonstrativeness couldn't have been the trait that came from her instead of Phil's sullen, cross-armed – yep, a fast look confirmed that his response to this situation was to sit there and look as disagreeable as possible. Like son, like mother. And like uncle.

Theo said that there was nothing wrong with her for being so stoic, but Theo's emotional constipation was legendary: he held everything in until the blockage became life-threatening and then it all came out in a rush, to be gross about it. Dee had been twelve when Papa died and his funeral was kind of a blur, but she remembered Mama's funeral all too well. Theo stood next to her coffin, blank-faced, and gave a speech about how amazing she was that hit all the right notes, but just didn't sound right with his flat affect. Then he went home and sat in front of the computer for about a day and a half, at which point he broke down in tears on the carpet.

"Mommy, 'm'gonna go to sleep," Caleb mumbled against her shoulder.

"Quit being a baby, Caleb," Phil said from her other side.

Dinah reached over and flicked the back of his cowlicked blond head. "Phil, shut up. Your brother has a right to deal with this his own way." The little hypocrite was only eleven months older than Caleb, so it wasn't like _his_ coping mechanisms were that much more mature.

Phil's frown deepened. "But Mom, I'm bored!" He wiggled his butt in the chair and slouched. "And Caleb's really annoying."

Dinah could feel the tightening of her jaw in her temples. Dear sweet deep-fried Jesus on a cracker, she really hoped she didn't come across like that. "Ask your uncle if you can play with his phone. I'm helping Caleb right now."

Phil stuck out his lower lip. "Can I go talk to Mr. Budin?"

"Which Mr. Budin?" Dee asked.

"Benny."

"Sure," she said. "Where's he sitting?" Phil pointed. The Budin brothers, minus their cousin, were on the other side of the waiting room; no wonder she'd missed them. In fact, most of the party guests were there, too. Noah Reisberg was sitting in Dwight Feldman's lap (when did _that_ relationship go public?), Omer Rabin was pacing in the small space between one cheap-ass blond wood end table and another, and Boaz looked to be deeply engrossed in conversation with Benny.

"So can I go?" Phil repeated, obviously impatient.

"Where are Danny and Bram?" she said in lieu of an answer. Phil could wait a minute. "I don't see them."

"Danny's watching Oreet with Mr. Brian 'cause he says Oreet can't handle hospitals," Phil said as he rolled his eyes. "Mr. Bram's getting coffee."

"Thanks. You can go," Dee told him. Phil stood up, took a second to yank down his shorts where they'd ridden up his skinny, tanned legs, and made a beeline to the Budin corner. Dee turned her attention back to Caleb – she didn't have to worry about Phil, if he was with Benny. Maybe that made her a bad mother, but at this point, she didn't fucking care.

Caleb seemed to have made good on his intent to fall asleep. Dinah rubbed his back, running her finger down the bumps of his spine, and looked at Gad's family. She couldn't really blame them for sitting far away from everyone else, with how much they'd all internalized the Jewish talent of guilt-tripping both other people and oneself. Gad looked so small and shaken right now, so she was probably right. Even his beard looked like it had shrunk in on itself, and the usually faint circles under his eyes were as purple as a bruise.

Sima's head was leaning against Gad's shoulder, and he intermittently reached over and petted her belly with one hand. Dinah felt a sudden stab of envy. If she were wearing velvet like Sima, she'd probably pet herself just for the soothing effect. Vince never minded her belly, either; like Theo, Mama, and Papa – but not Forrest, the stick – she'd never been thin, and had fluctuated between sizes twelve and fourteen ever since Phil and Caleb were born in such quick succession. In bed, Vince's favorite thing to do when he was feeling silly was to shove his nose into her navel and blow raspberries on her stretch marks, something she wouldn't have been surprised to find out Gad did to Sima on the regular.

She found that she was slowly shaking her head again, like she was denying God or whatever other cosmic deity had thrown a bowling ball into the relative neatness of their lives his due. Vince was hers, with all his idiosyncrasies, both good and bad. There was no way he wasn't fighting tooth and nail back there and giving them hell, because he'd drawn out that same spark of life in her and made her fight back at life, too.

Then the doors opened, and Bill stepped out. "Dinah?" he said. Dee snapped to attention and she stared at him as hard as he could while he went to stand in front of her. What clues was he hiding? "Oh – good. You're still here."

He'd dicked around enough with her. She wasn't going to stand for any more. "Where's Vince?" she asked. Her voice came out like iron, hard and brittle.

Bill gulped once, then again. His mouth opened and a hiccup came out. "We did everything," he said, the beginning of a sentence that something in the back of Dinah's mind had been expecting to hear from the start of this shit. "They sent me," he continued, and stopped short. And she knew.

"He's dead," she said. Instinctively, her eyes went to her lapful, but he hadn't stirred. Thank fuck for small mercies. "Vince is dead."

"Yes," Bill said simply, and started to cry.

Theo immediately got up, put an arm around him, and led him (with more gentleness than she had seen out of him in a while) to the seat next to him. Dinah's head was curiously empty of anything other than the ability to watch. Maybe the returning knot that she felt in her stomach had switched places with her brain – a knot that squeezed and cramped the flesh around it like a hot rock or a bomb.

"I'm gonna throw up," she blurted out, and disentangled Caleb from her shoulders and hair with stiff, numb fingers, setting him down in her chair. Her face felt hot and fever-sweaty and her stomach churned harder and harder with every second. Wouldn't that be great, to make a scene coming into the emergency room _and_ coming out of the waiting room?

"Bathroom's over there," Theo said, indicating a labeled set of doors next to the front desk with his thumb. His arm was around Bill, whose face was buried in his hands as he shook uncontrollably. Another small mercy: he was a quiet crier. Dinah would have thanked him for that if not for the fact that the contents of her stomach were slowly but surely making their way up the back of her throat.

She nodded quickly, trying to convey her eternal gratitude as thoroughly as she could in one gesture, and sprinted to the women's room. The stall door banged open as she rushed in, dropped to her knees, and made a gut-wrenching offering to the porcelain god.

For the first time in her life, she truly understood the meaning of the term "projectile vomit." Her stomach was aching – hell, not just her stomach, but her esophagus all the way up to the back of her mouth felt like it was slowly being eaten away. Her breath heaved uncontrollably in and out of her lungs, echoing loudly in the stall. They could, she thought ruefully, record her breathing right now and sub it in for Darth Vader.

Dinah closed her eyes and let herself slide bonelessly down the lemon cleanser-scented floor. Holding herself up was too much to ask right now. Her cheek came to rest on the edge of the toilet brim, hot and sticky with sweat both old and fresh, and her hair hung down in front of her face to the tiles. The movie cliché that you could fall asleep in front of the toilet was right after all. Vince would be amused to hear – no, he wouldn't. Never would again. Her stomach churned, and she wrenched herself up with palms flat against the side of the toilet just in time to throw up into it again.

Her vision was throbbing around the edges by the time she was finished. She'd never passed out (that she could recall) and she was no medical professional, but in her opinion, this was a pretty obvious sign that moving right now would be a bad idea. The air in her lungs rushed out of her in a sigh reminiscent of the sick sound of a balloon deflating, and she put her head down again on the coolest part of the toilet seat that she could reach.

"Dinah, you in here?"

"Boaz," she mumbled. Her lips moved against the toilet seat and her voice came out pinched and nasal. No wonder, if her nose was smashed so hard against the surface. "'S'the women's room in here."

"I don't think they'll throw me out for carin', Dinah." The stall door squeaked open behind her and she felt Boaz's warmth as he knelt behind her. "God, your hair's in the toilet."

"I'm washable."

"So? That can't be comfortable." Gentle hands scooped her hanging hair from where it curtained her face and gathered it behind her. "Any better?"

"Little," she said. "Are Phil and Caleb okay?"

"Yeah, Benny's taken them off to the cafeteria for dinner." Boaz stroked a hand slowly down her back, following the line of her spine just the same way she'd done to comfort Caleb in his sleep. "They think you got the stomach flu. We figured you'd want to tell 'em later. You know, when you're not in pieces."

"You're a miracle worker." Dinah lifted her head up and drew her legs in, molding herself into a slightly less sprawled position so she could look Boaz in the eye. He still had his hand reached out, but in the absence of a back to stroke, it looked like he was reaching towards her in a plea for supplication.

"It's no problem," he said, drawing his arm back and shrugging. His eyebrows knit together. "Dinah, you really do look sick. Sure you're finished?"

"I'm running on empty," Dinah said as she touched her stomach. "Don't worry."

"Good. Right." Boaz got to his feet. "I'll go get you a wet towel."

"There's no towels in here."

"Paper towel, Mad Literalist," Boaz said, his voice echoing from the sink. She heard the water come on. "Don't worry about bein' in here, by the way," he said in a louder tone, probably to be heard over the water. "Dwight and Noah are outside the door. You know, guardin' your right to have a vom in peace."

Dinah had to laugh at that, even though it hurt her gut. She couldn't stop herself from imagining Dwight and Noah in those ridiculous hats that the guards at Buckingham Palace wore, glaring at everyone who tried to get into the bathroom. "You know," she said, "I probably _should_ get out of here. You know, just so other women don't have to pee on the floor."

"That can wait." Boaz came back into the stall, squatted down in front of her, and started dabbing her face with the wet paper towel in his hand. "Those ones out there haven't got to deal with a dead husband," he continued, sounding far too conversational for the subject matter.

Dinah gagged, and tensed, turning to the toilet just in case she had missed her guess – but no, there was nothing in her throat except the taste of acid that remained there like a coat of paint. "No, they probably don't," she said hoarsely.

"No more false alarms?" Boaz held the towel aloft. Dinah shook her head. "All right. Hold still, I've got you." He wiped the towel across her forehead, then her cheeks and chin. In contrast to the cool, wet paper, his hand was warm, and the intensity written in his pursed lips and knit brow was uncharacteristically grim. His eyes, which were usually crinkled with laugh lines, weren't laughing anymore.

"Is Theo doing okay?" she asked.

Boaz nodded. "He went with the lads," he said, wiping the back of her neck. Immediately, coolness suffused Dinah's entire body, and she let out a sigh of relief. "There, now. That's better, isn't it?"

"Tons."

"Good." Boaz crumpled the towel and stashed it in the sanitary-product bin attached to the side of the stall. "D'you think you might be ready to come out, Dinah? It's all right if you need more time."

"Nah, I've probably hogged the bathroom long enough." Dinah held out her hand. "Help me up? I'm kind of wedged down here."

"Gladly." Boaz smiled and took her hand, the tendons in his forearm standing out as he pulled her to her feet. "Now," he said with a touch to her upper arm, "there are people waiting for y' in the waiting room. All right to deal with that?"

"I guess," she said. Her legs wobbled, and as she smoothed her hands down her thighs, she noticed that the goosebumps were still there. "Is 'ready as I'll ever be' appropriate for this?"

Boaz stuck the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. "Probably not," he said after a moment of introspection, "but you've got the right to be inappropriate. No one gives out a crib sheet for shite like this."

Dinah looked askance at him. "You don't have experience with family death, do you?" For all she knew, Boaz's kindly demeanor could be a smoke screen for the purpose of hiding a bunch of skeletons in a sad, dark closet. "You've never said anything, but, I mean…we never asked."

"No, m'parents are still alive," Boaz said with a shake of his head. "Grandmam's dead, though. I was fifteen when she went. So, yeah, I guess I've got a little experience in this area."

"Oh." The clammily awkward reality of this situation was starting to impress itself upon her. She was standing in a bathroom stall that still smelled like vomit – and at that thought, she quickly stuck her hand out and flushed the toilet – discussing personal bereavement. "We should probably go," she said, wiping her mouth.

"Right!" Boaz turned sideways and wormed himself out of the stall, which was admittedly pretty crowded with two people in it. Dinah followed him into the main bathroom and then out the door, which was flanked on either side by Dwight and Noah, just as Boaz had promised her. Instead of standing still, though, they were in the middle of what looked like a drinking game, minus the alcohol, when she and Boaz came through the door.

Dwight stopped still in the middle of miming bringing an imaginary glass to his mouth. "You okay, Dee?" he said, catching her by the arm.

A flicker of annoyance sparked to life and began a steady burn in the middle of Dee's brain. "Stop asking me that," she said. "I'm fine, okay, Dwight?"

Dwight held his hands up, but Noah was shaking his head. "You are _not_ fine," he said. "God, no. Dinah –" and here, he lowered his voice to a confusingly almost-inaudible level – "my parents murder-suicided. I said I was fine, but I was _fucked-up_ , and I hated those jackoffs."

That explained the whisper. "Jeez," Dinah said, for lack of anything else to say. She massaged her forehead with her fingertips; the fluorescent lights in here were _definitely_ starting a headache. "What are you two doing, anyway?"

"Drinking every time Theo snarls," Dwight answered with a low chuckle. Dinah looked out across the rows of chairs until her eyes landed on Theo. He still had Bill in his arms, but now his face was his typical sour pout, probably because Bill's boss was now sitting where Dinah had been. "It'd be better if we had some actual beer."

"He's snarling, all right," Dinah said, although she thought that Theo's snarling was much too common an occurrence to merit a drinking game. Dwight and Noah must have been bored out of their minds when she was in there; the realization made her stomach cramp with guilt.

"You probably better get over there," Noah suggested, and wiped the back of one black-streaked hand across his face. His eyeliner smudged, adding to the streaks. "I think they're waiting for you." He looked at Dwight, exchanging a lightning-quick yet somehow coded glance that twelve years of marriage had taught Dinah to use, too. Those looks could transmit information faster and more densely than a fiber-optic cable, and she had to wonder _when_ , exactly, Dwight and Noah had found the time to grow that close.

Well, she thought with a slight shrug – fuck, her shoulders were sore and she didn't know why – this wasn't the right time to navel-gaze about the reasons that Noah Reisberg found himself in an actual relationship. "See you guys later," she said, and wove her way through the huddled clumps of waiting families and rows of chairs until she reached ground zero.

"You all right now, Dee?" Theo asked, petting Bill's ear. "Get it all out of your system?"

"Yup." Dinah turned to Bill's boss, whose face was even skinnier up close, and held out her hand. "Um. Hi. Dinah Adler-Derensky."

"Galina Logunova," said Gilly, with a slight smile and a motion towards her nametag. She stood up and shook Dinah's hand. "Do you have some time available, Mrs. Adler-Derensky? There are things that need to be arranged."

" _Ms._ ," Dinah corrected automatically, then her brain caught up with her mouth. "Arrangements?"

Gilly's smile turned rueful. "Under ideal circumstances…" and here, Dinah could have sworn she saw Gilly flick a razor-sharp gaze in Bill's direction, "you would have been apprised of your husband's condition in a more private setting. Mr. Baggins was informed of the necessity."

"Wait a fuckin' minute," Theo interrupted. His upper lip curled and one eye twitched, ever so slightly. "Bill's _family_. He shouldn't'a been sent out here in the first place!"

"Doctor Derensky, I understand you're upset –"

"Upset? Try _pissed_." Theo laid emphasis on the last word like a lead-footed driver laying rubber, the _s_ coming out in a deep, truncated hiss. "You _know_ Bill's history with this family." He disentangled himself from Bill and stood up. Gilly was a tall woman, but he towered over her by at least six inches. Dinah couldn't help a twinge of satisfaction as the schoolyard scream rang in her head: _my brother can beat you up._ "You should've sent some other nurse. Any other nurse, or some intern. Not Bill. This is your fault, not his."

Gilly blinked a few times. "I…" She reeled in her open mouth. "That isn't the topic of discussion at this point. _Ms._ Adler-Derensky," she said, inclining her head when she used Dee's form of address, "if at all possible, I need to take you to a private room to discuss your husband."

"Not without my brother," Dinah said.

"You're next of kin for your husband," Gilly said. "Unfortunately, your brother presents a bit of a legal quandary."

"I'll give whatever permission I have to." Dinah folded her arms and curled her toes down, digging them into the rubbery foam of her shoes. "Either I get the official news with Theo, or I don't get it at all." She was well aware that this was immature, and in fact, she was forcefully reminding herself of Caleb on several occasions. It didn't matter, though. Theo was one of the few people who had proven himself capable of holding her up in life and she wasn't about to let him sit in the waiting room now.

Gilly paused, seemingly about to say something, and then belayed her intention with a short nod. "All right. Ms. Adler-Derensky, Dr. Derensky, please come with me."

"Benny will keep Phil and Caleb away for a while, won't he?" Dinah asked, turning to Theo.

"Oh, yeah. They'll be down there for hours."

"Okay." Dinah spared a look at Bill, still sitting in the chair where Theo had left him. His face was flushed bright pink and his cheeks were streaked with tears that looked fresher than those she'd seen. "Bill, are you gonna be okay?"

Bill wiped his face with a shaking forearm. "I should be," he said. "I just – I need a bit."

"You need more than a bit," Gilly said. "Take the rest of the day off, Bill. We'll talk about this tomorrow." She turned back to Dinah, an apologetic look in her eyes. "I'm sorry to rush, but time _is_ a bit of a factor here."

Dinah took as deep of a breath as she could, which wasn't very deep. Her lungs felt like they'd been squeezed into a soda bottle and left to try to expand against the plastic walls. Then Theo took her hand, and in an instant, she was five years old again, with her big brother taking her to preschool and fortifying her with just his silent presence. "Let's go," she said.

Quickly, her shoes clacking on the tile floor in a way that Dinah had never heard come from rubber-soled sneakers, Gilly brought them down a short hallway off the waiting room and into a room just large enough for the three of them. "Please sit," she said, indicating the chairs there, and took the remaining seat herself.

Theo only let go of Dinah's hand long enough to sit down, but he took it again as soon as he was in the chair, which was way too small for him. His shoulders were wider than the backrest, and with how close the chairs were to each other, his left shoulder bumped into her right one every time he shifted in place. "Let's get this over with," he said heavily.

Gilly cleared her throat. "All right." She leaned forward in her chair, towards Dinah. "Ms. Adler-Derensky, I'm very sorry. We did all we could, but –"

"- my husband is dead," Dinah interrupted her. Her mother would never approve of her being so rude in such a situation, but her lips felt somehow uncoupled from the rest of her head, stiff and numb like the nerves had been sliced. "Vince is dead. He died. Bill told me. You don't have to tell me again."

"I…yes. Yes, you're correct." Gilly coughed politely into the back of one hand, as if _that_ was going to salvage this sorry situation. "Ms. Adler-Derensky. Your husband was brought into surgery as quickly as possible, but we found he had suffered some very severe thoracic and abdominal trauma, and he suffered cardiac arrest about fifteen minutes in. The surgeons did their best to restart his heart, but they weren't successful." She lowered her chin. "I'm very, very sorry for your loss."

Ice coagulated in the pit of Dinah's stomach. "What killed him?"

Gilly looked down at her clipboard. "The official cause of death was an aortic dissection. The, ah, the largest vessel carrying blood from his heart was unable to withstand the stress of the injuries to his body cavity."

The ice in her belly spun tendrils past her lungs and up her throat until it met her numb, frozen lips. "He fell apart," she said. There was a roaring noise in her ears, as loud as a blizzard. "Vince's heart stopped beating." If only they'd made sure he woke up before they wheeled him in. If Vince were awake, he never would have let it happen. He was never the kind of person to fall to pieces, literally or otherwise.

Gilly reached across the few feet between them and touched Dinah's knee. "I'm so sorry," she said again. Dinah flinched away; this woman wasn't her head-shrinker, and if she thought that unwanted physical contact and some canned phrases for grieving family members were going to change anyone's outlook, then she was short-sighted regarding more than just what to do with her staff.

"So what happens next?" Theo said. "Dee, is Vince an organ donor?"

Gilly answered before Dinah had time to dig through the recesses of her memory to the last time Vince had gotten his driver's license renewed. "Unfortunately, Mr. Adler-Derensky's organs were deprived of oxygen for too long to be viable," she said. "He's no longer eligible to donate, I'm afraid."

 _Unfortunately. I'm afraid._ What the fuck was it with hospitals and using soft words to beat around the bush? Vince was dead. His organs were dead, too. There was no nice way to say that without making yourself sound like a massive dick. "That's too bad," Dinah said. Gilly scrunched up her mouth and gave her a weird look. "Vince would've wanted to donate," she elaborated. "I know he would've."

"I'm sure he would have," said Gilly, more gently. "Now, the next step is to make arrangements for his body. Did he have a will?"

"Yeah. Yes, he – I mean, we both have them." Everyone had insisted that she and Vince draw up their wills after Caleb was born, and she meant _right_ after he was born. Dinah had wanted to object – who wouldn't, in her situation? She was just twenty-three years old, already a second-time mom and too worn out from Caleb's fourteen-hour birth to want to think about anything except feeding him and falling asleep. But Vince had brought in Phil, who was nearly a year old then, and he'd cooed and stuck out his neck to bump his fat little tow head against his new brother's forehead.

She'd signed the papers a week later in a notary colleague's office, with one son in a sling on her back and the other one sitting on her lap.

" – funeral home?"

Dinah shook her head hard. "Sorry, what?"

"Do you have arrangements with a specific funeral home?" Gilly repeated. She was clearly starting to get a little peeved off, if the lines between her eyebrows and the flare of her nostrils were any indication.

"Melkor and Sons," Dinah said. Despite Lexington's not-insignificant number of Jews, it was the only Jewish funeral home nearby. "It's in the will."

"Good." Clearing her throat in a very businesslike fashion, Gilly took a few papers off the clipboard and shuffled them. "I just need to have you sign some things so that we can have them bring your husband's body to the funeral home as soon as possible." She paused. "Would you like to see him?"

"His…his body?" This couldn't be happening. Dinah had had nightmares like this, just like everyone else, but they _always_ let her wake up before the person who found Vince's body started talking logistics. _My husband is dead._ How was it, she idly wondered, that it hadn't sunk in until now? She knew she'd told it to herself. _I'm never going to see him with his eyes open again._

"Dee?" Theo was patting her arm. "You're spacing."

 _I need to get out of here._ "My lawyer has the funeral arrangements," she said. The words sounded so far away, like her ears were blocked. "It's in Vince's will. Call Danny."

Gilly cocked her head. "Ms. Adler-Derensky, are you all right?"

"I can't see his body. I can't do this." Vince had to understand. He had to know that she couldn't look at him battered and broken, lying under a sheet in some morgue. "My husband is dead," Dinah said, "and I need to get drunk. I'll sign whatever you need me to sign, I just need to get out of here and _I need to get drunk_."

"Dee." Theo took one of her hands in both of his, scooting his chair so that they were facing each other instead of Gilly. "You want me to call Danny? Seriously, I can. You don't have to stick around if it's going to –"

" _Yes_ ," she said. "Yes. Yes. I need help, Theo."

For once, his response wasn't something along the lines of 'yeah, you need help - _professional_ help.' Instead, he nodded once, squeezed her hand, and looked from her to Gilly. "Give my sister whatever papers she needs to sign," he said, his voice deep and authoritative and almost reverberating in the tiny room. "Then let her go. Her lawyer's authorized to give you this kind of information and I can get him over here fast."

 _Thank you_ , Dinah mouthed at him. For some reason, she couldn't get the words out of her swollen throat. Theo smiled back at her and squeezed her hand hard.

Gilly frowned down at her papers. "As long as he's authorized to act in her place, I don't see why not. Can he get over here quickly?"

Theo nodded. "Ten minutes, and that's no problem. He's got power of attorney for Dee." He pulled his phone out of his shorts pocket and began to move his thumbs across the screen. "Texting him now. He always has his phone on him."

"That's fine," said Gilly. "While he's doing that…" She trailed off as she rested the clipboard on her knees and flipped a paper back, then pulled a pen out of the pocket of her scrub top. "You specified Melkor, right? On Main Street?"

"Yeah," Dinah said. Ron Melkor was an old crab, wore way too much aftershave, and had looked pretty much the same for at least twenty years, but he knew what he was doing. When Mama died, he'd held the funeral and made sure she was buried quickly and dignifiedly, which – considering she died in the bathroom at home – was a feat she had to admire. If she remembered correctly, his three sons were all in their forties, so maybe he would trust them to take over some of the business now.

"Okay." Gilly finished writing on the form and passed the clipboard over to Dinah. "Sign where I put the X, and put the date, please – and then the two under it, where it says 'signature of next of kin.'"

Theo's phone buzzed just as Dinah was finishing the last loop of her last signature. Her hand was already cramping up in addition to the weird tremor it had developed; her fingers didn't seem to want to do what she needed them to. "Danny'll be here in ten," he said.

"Thank fuck," Dinah muttered, signing a wobbly '7/4/13' on the printed date line. It was so hot in the room all of a sudden, and she didn't want to find out that she had a hidden reserve of puke just waiting to land on Theo. That shit had gotten old when she was three. "I'm gonna go wait in the waiting room," she said in what she figured would be a normal tone, and stood up so fast that the clipboard hit the floor.

Theo leaned over and picked it up. "Get outta here," he said. "I'll hold down the fort."

If he had anything to say after that, she didn't hear it. She was already out the door as he was finishing that sentence, running down the hallway back to the waiting room. Theo could take care of this a lot better than she could right now. He wasn't the one whose motions were jerky and robotic even as she ran; that honor was Dee's. He wasn't the one who'd run to the bathroom after Bill said the news. And, as she found out when she stepped back into the waiting room, he wasn't the one with two sons waiting for him.

Well, it looked like Boaz had been wrong. Hospital food could only placate Phil and Caleb for so long. "Mom!" Phil shouted as he waved from a seat. "Mom, where's Dad? Benny won't tell us anything!"

"Phil, quiet," Dinah said automatically. "People are staring." She didn't need to get yelled at for noise pollution on top of everything else, but what a thing to focus on right now. Some tiny part of her brain was insistently prodding at the rest of it, repeating _Vince is dead. Vince is dead. Vince is dead_ over and over, louder and louder, until the rest of her thoughts disappeared beneath it.

"Boys," she said, "sit down," and now people were looking her way. Oh. She must have been loud enough to drown out the voice _and_ everyone else's conversations.

"We're already sitting down," Caleb said. His forehead crinkled and he started biting his lower lip, his usual expression when he was about to start crying. "Mom, what happened?"

Dinah took one of the seats between them. "Phil, Caleb," she began, then almost laughed as she realized that her lips were starting to form the words _I'm so sorry_. Maybe she was no better than Gilly, but she doubted her sons would take it any better than she had. Honesty was the best policy here. "Your dad is dead."

She wasn't surprised to see Caleb's eyes filling up again within a heartbeat, but Phil's eyes doing the same _was_ kind of a surprise. "Then Galil killed Dad," Phil said, wobbly-voiced. "He's a dad-murderer."

"Yeah, a dad-murderer!" Caleb echoed.

Oh, God. "Boys, Galil did _not_ murder your dad," Dinah said as forcefully as she could. "Boys – Phil, goddammit, get back here!" She made a grab for the back of his shirt, but it was too late. Phil was already clambering over the seats like a little mountain goat, making for the Rabin family.

"Galil!" Phil hollered as he reached the cluster of chairs. "Galil, wake up!"

Luckily, he had stopped moving at that point, so Dinah was able to catch up and grab him by the shirt. "Knock it _off_ ," she growled in his ear. "Phil, you're gonna be lucky if you don't get grounded for the rest of your life!"

"But Galil _killed_ Dad!"

"I _did?_ " Fuck, Phil had succeeded in waking him up. Galil's eyes were as round as saucers and he began to tremble. " _Aba_ , I killed Vince?" he said. Gad glared at Dinah.

"Sweetie, you didn't kill Vince. It was an accident," Dinah told him. Fuck, fuck, Galil was going all wibbly and huge, teary eyes were her Kryptonite. "Galil, come here." She bent over and held out her arms, and thank God, he went into them instead of throwing a full-blown tantrum. "Gad," she said over his shaking head, "I'm so sorry."

Gad huffed, crossing his arms. They were sun-browned under their layer of hair, and Dinah had to shake her head as the surprise punch of awareness hit her in the face. "Dinah, you've lost Vince. They're upset. I understand." Jesus Christ, it was still the Fourth of July. How long ago had that far-away party been, a few hours? And in those few hours, she'd…

She bit her lip against a moan of surprise and pain when her stomach cramped all over again. "Ow," she whimpered, and released Galil back into his father's lap. "Oh, Galil, I'm sorry. I just, I…I…" Now the room was shaking; what on Earth was behind that? No, not the room – her head. And her body.

"You what, Dinah? Are you okay?" Sima touched one of her wobbling knees.

Then the words came back to her. "I need to get drunk."

"No, no," Sima said, shaking her head back and forth so vigorously that her hair nearly whapped Dinah in the face. "Sweetheart, you do not need to get drunk right now."

"She can come to the shop," came Boaz's blessed voice from behind her. Dinah straightened up all the way and turned to look at him. He'd removed his hat; that was new. "Dinah," he said, "I promised I'd wait 'til Bill got some coffee and take him to Theo's, but Benny can take you."

"God, would he?" Dinah said. She'd have to send that family a fruit basket or something. First Boaz came into the bathroom with her and now he was pressing his little brother into helping her, too? They had to be saints.

"Sure," Boaz said with a shrug. "He's not doin' anything right now. Benny, can you take Dinah?"

"Yeah, absolutely!" Benny got up from his seat and came over to them. Bram, sitting next to him, smiled at her and waved; Benny and the boys must have picked him up in the cafeteria when they went for food. "Dinah, d'you mind if Bram's with us, or are y'after more privacy?"

"Bram's fine."

"Oh, good. Boaz, the key?" Benny asked.

Boaz stuck a hand in his shorts pocket and began to dig around. "It's in here somewhere," he said, and came up with a key ring after a few seconds of rummaging. "Got it!" He snapped a key off the ring and tossed it to Benny, who caught it easily. "Just don't put too many lights on or people'll think we're open."

"Business on a national holiday, how terrible for conservatives everywhere," Benny quipped, putting the key in one of the pockets of his voluminous cargo shorts. "Just think, ye might have business goin' on without their say-so."

"That's America!" Boaz said. "Dinah, you've got my permission to drink anything out o' the store, as long as y' eat something while you're there. I've got crisps stocked in the cupboards." He turned to Sima, who was still on her feet. "Sima, don't worry, we'll take good care of her. She's in the hands of some very experienced drinkers."

"Fine," Sima said, "but if she gets alcohol poisoning, I'm holding you personally responsible. And I'm making sure Vince kicks your –" She stopped short with a sort of hiccup. " _Shit_."

"You forgot he was dead," Dinah said dully, "didn't you?" Her stomach wasn't cramping anymore; now it just felt like it was filled with rocks and was threatening to fall past all her internal organs and sag out her pelvic floor. "Honest mistake, Sima."

"Oh, Dinah, I'm so sorry," Sima said, but unlike when Gilly said it, the phrase didn't make her want to rip Sima's throat out and stomp on her larynx. Maybe it was because she'd heard her telling Gad that he needed a shave "big-time" enough times to know that she wasn't a phony. "That was inconsiderate of me."

"No, it was _human_ of you," Dinah said. She'd once asked Mama when Papa was coming down for dinner three weeks after he'd died, and if Mama hadn't killed her out of grief then, she could afford to cut Sima a break. "I'm not jumping off a bridge here. I just need to get drunk."

Sima sighed, came forward, and engulfed Dinah in a hug that was both very warm and weirdly matter-of-fact. Maybe it was the perfunctory pat on the back. "You take care of yourself, Dinah," she said. "I'm coming over tomorrow to check on you. You want a casserole? Gad and I can make casseroles."

Ah, there were the mourning rituals she knew and loved. "The boys are picky eaters, but thanks anyway," Dinah said, returning the pat on the back. Sima's back was cool and tacky with drying sweat, a sensation that was comfortingly reminiscent of the boys. This could have been one of those tactile groundings; she vaguely remembered Theo talking about having people with PTSD touch stuff when he was taking that abnormal psych class years ago. But she was also pretty sure that PTSD didn't develop an hour after a death, so this was just confusing.

"M-Mrs. Dinah?" Galil sniffled. "I'm sorry I killed Vince."

"Honey, you didn't…" Dinah sighed and changed track. Telling him he wasn't a murderer clearly hadn't worked before. "Don't worry about it. Vince wouldn't want you to freak out."

"'Kay, I won't freak out." Galil wiped his face with the back of one hand. His pug nose was running. "I'm still sorry, though." God, the kid was persistent. "See ya."

"You, too." Dinah ruffled his hair. "Benny, are you ready to go?"

"Whenever you are," Benny said.

" _Kibinimat_ ," Bram put in helpfully. Benny immediately turned scarlet, and Dinah forced a laugh back down her throat (it made a very loud gulping noise going down). Forrest's one letter home before he turned to field pizza had contained a list of swear words for their general edification, and – being ten – she'd committed every one of them to memory.

"Bram, keep your voice down!" Benny said, taking his cousin by the arm. "Come on, I'm parked right out by the emergency entrance. Dinah, follow me an' we'll be there soon."

Bram kept on swearing as they walked out to the parking lot, but at least he had the presence of mind to do it under his breath. That was fortunate, because every ten words or so, Dinah would swear she heard something absolutely filthy in English.

"Back or front, your choice," Benny said with a sigh after they'd made their way through the muggy evening air to his red hatchback. "Bram, you're in the back."

"I'll keep him company," Dinah said. Benny nodded and unlocked the car, and she slid into the back after Bram. It smelled of cinnamon inside, and she immediately pinpointed the source as the scarlet, pine tree-shaped air freshener dangling off the rearview mirror. It was faded enough that she could guess it had seen more than a few sunny days. "You like the color red, huh?"

"With my hair, you've got to reclaim it," Benny said, backing up out of the parking space. "Have you ever been to Ireland?"

"No, but I'd like to go." Dinah jerked at a sudden gentle touch on her head. "Bram, what are…oh." Bram smiled at her and kept rubbing. "Benny, I think he's massaging my head or something."

"Bram, why're you touchin' Dinah's hair?" Benny asked.

" _Hi atzuvah_ ," Bram answered. " _Rotzeh litkan, shoteh._ "

"No need to call names," Benny said as he flicked on the turn signal. "And I am _not_ a fool." He looked back and forth a few times, then turned into the road and began to drive away from the hospital.

"Bram," Dinah said, "if you want to really be useful, you could give me some braids." Her face still felt sticky despite Benny's air conditioning going full blast, and besides, she dreaded what might happen to her hair if she felt the sudden need to throw up again.

" _Mitzuyan_ ," said Bram. He gathered her curls into a ponytail and stroked the crown of her head with one hand, then combed through the ponytail a few times with his fingers and began to braid. From the feel of things, he was giving her pigtail braids, which she hadn't habitually worn since she was a kid. _Memory lane_ , she thought, and laugh-gulped again at the baseless thought that maybe that was the lane Benny was driving on right now.

"All right, Dinah?" Benny asked. She saw his eyes glance towards her in the rearview mirror. "Not going to be sick again, are ye?"

"No, I'm fine," she said. "Just a weird noise. Your car is safe." Bram tugged on a braid and said something that was too fast for her to understand. "Sorry, what was that?"

"He's got nothin' to tie it back with," Benny said. "Bram, there's a box of rubber bands in the seat pocket next t'you."

" _Todah_." Bram let go of Dinah's hair to pat Benny's bald spot around the side of the seat. Dinah smiled as he pulled the box of rubber bands out of the back of the driver's seat and shook it next to his face, a wide-eyed expression that was probably meant to be enticing on his face.

"You don't have to convince me," she said. "Tie away."

Bram nodded and twirled one finger, which she took to mean she should turn her face away so he could finish her braids. When she did, he snapped a rubber band onto the end of each braid and brought the ends around so she could see them, waggling the wild hair past the rubber bands with his fingertips. " _Ka'itz, lo?_ " he rumbled.

" _Ken_ ," Dinah said as the corners of her mouth twitched up. Bram patted the top of her head a few times, then went back to his smooth, gentle strokes. She closed her eyes and leaned against the car window, feeling the achy throb of her stomach ebb a little.

"All right," Benny said, "we're here." Dinah snapped open her eyes and shook her head. First the waiting room, now the car. Was she some kind of late-onset narcoleptic? "Follow me."

Dinah got out of the car, followed by Bram, and stretched her arms over her head. Benny went to the door under the store's pink- and yellow-striped awning, pulled Boaz's key out of his pocket, and unlocked the door in one smooth motion. "Door's open," he said with a chortle, "and store's open. Come on in."

She closed her eyes as she came into the store. Although she'd been there a few times before, mostly to pick up vintages that the nearest Trader Joe's didn't carry, she was always soothed anew by the cool woody smell of Bo'z Booze. If she remembered right, the darkly-paneled woods were real paneling and he and Benny had put up the wood themselves.

Bram flipped the light switch and Benny began to rummage in the cabinets below the bar. All that was visible of him was his fat back, and his shirt was riding up, giving him one hell of a plumber's crack. "Let me get ye some crackers," he said, voice muffled. "Boaz won't have me lettin' ye drink on an empty stomach. He'll kick my arse if I do."

Dinah laid a hand on her stomach. It gurgled in response. In fact, she wouldn't have been surprised to hear an empty clank coming from inside. "Probably not a bad idea," she said. "I _did_ have some beer at Theo's." Sima was going to hand her her ass if she heard of Dinah waking up hungover when her sons needed her, and to be honest, she'd be right to do it.

"I've got some leftover Tam Tams." Benny stood up, brandished the box at her, and shook it so that the contents shuffled around. What Boaz was doing with a half-empty box of – Dinah squinted – poppy-seed Passover crackers, she had no idea, but she wasn't about to complain.

"Okay," she said. "What'll you give me to drink?"

"Some wine. Is that all right with you?" Benny bent down again and resurfaced with a bottle of wine, also partially empty. "D'you like Riesling?"

"Riesling is fine."

"All right, then." Benny took one of the wineglasses off the artistically-arranged stack on the bar and filled it up, thank God, to the top. "Pull up a stool." He set the glass down, put a dish towel on the bar, and shook out some crackers onto it. "There, now you're set."

"Thanks, Benny." Dinah sat down on the stool and rested her feet on the metal ring above the base. "Just keep it coming."

"Eat first," Benny said, crossing his arms.

" _Fine_." Dinah rolled her eyes, but it was mostly for show. Benny was hardly the most annoying person she'd ever had to listen to to get something to drink. She popped a few crackers into her mouth and chased them with some wine, then rinsed and repeated until the expression on Benny's face softened. "Enough to keep you from worrying?" she asked.

"Should be." Benny picked up a glass and began to wipe it with another dish towel. "You know, 's'long as I'm here, I might as well clean up a bit. Boaz can't wipe glass for shite."

Dinah took a long sip, snorted, and narrowly missed getting a noseful of wine. "How is he at wiping his ass, though?"

"I don't want to know," Benny told her with a raised eyebrow. He sighed and picked up another glass, then began to whistle something she didn't know under his breath. Maybe this was his comfort, cleaning up in an almost-empty room while the evening grew darker outside the windows. _Understandable_ , she thought, and brought the glass to her lips again.

Somewhere between one and a half and two glasses later, she resurfaced at the sound of the door opening. "How're you doing, Dee?" Theo said behind her. "Gotten good and drunk yet?"

"On my way," she said, putting the glass down and turning around in the stool. "Oh, hey, these things are spinny!"

Theo's smile was bemused. "You've never drunk at the bar here before?"

"Nah, never been in here long enough – Theo, why are my sons in here?" Phil and Caleb were hanging back by the door and whispering to each other, seemingly awed by the contents of the store's floor-to-ceiling shelves. She didn't blame them. In the dim light, the full bottles looked like the contents of some ancient tomb, maybe paying tribute to an important god.

"'Cause they wouldn't let go of me when I came here to check on you," Theo said. "Phil, Caley, no touching the merchandise."

"Can they _legally_ be in here? That's what I meant," she said. "I don't want to get in trouble with the law."

"Doesn't matter," Theo said. "No one's calling the cops. Oh, hey," he added, turning, as the door opened again. "Hey, Boaz."

Boaz tipped his hat. "Don't you two touch my bottles," he said to Phil and Caleb with an admonishing shake of one finger. "Dinah, I've got to thank your brother. He was my ride to and from the hospital."

"Thank him with free beer and I think he'll call it even." Dinah raised her glass towards Boaz and took another gulp, draining it. "I need more wine, Benny."

"She's had enough, Benny," Theo said.

"Come off it, it's Riesling." Benny poured her glass half-full. "I'm watching her, don't worry."

"Yeah, Theo, _I'm_ the one drinking," Dinah said, and took a mutinous sip of wine. Theo needed to get off her ass about this. Of course, since it was Theo, maybe it was too much to ask. Getting on, and up, people's asses seemed to be his calling in life. The thought made her snicker into her glass.

Boaz sat down on the barstool next to hers and picked up her glass. "Benny, is this my Riesling?" he asked. "My _relaxation_ Riesling?"

"Sorry, Bo, but she needs it more than you right now," Benny said. "An' I've got Bram here, so he can protect me if you attack. Don't even try." Bram gave a guttural laugh from his position on the store floor, widening Dinah's smile. At least she had some people on her side.

Boaz shook his head. "You're lucky you're my younger brother or I'd beat your arse," he said. "But Mam and Bram'd kill me if I hurt you, so I s'pose you're safe. For now." He squinted at his brother like John Wayne in an Old West movie trying to be intimidating.

"Well, then." Benny took the box of Tam Tams and dumped the rest of the contents out on the bar, loose poppy seeds and all. Boaz moaned. "Who wants to see how many o' these I can shove in my mouth at once?"

"Yeah!" Phil yelled from the other end of the store. "Eat 'em, Benny!"

"Go for it, Benny," Dinah said.

"If my fans demand it," Benny said, and shoved a pile of crackers in his mouth instead of finishing the sentence. His cheeks bulged out, giving him the startlingly accurate look of a fat red squirrel. "Mmph?"

"You go, Benny!" Dinah pumped her fist, then raised her glass and downed the rest of its contents in a few gulps. The alcohol burned the back of her throat and she coughed hard, but it stayed down. Good to know she could still chug with the best of them.

"Boaz," she heard Theo say as she watched Benny choke down his mouthful of starch, "can I have your seat?"

"Sure." Boaz hopped off. "You want to hug your sister?"

"Talk to her, more like." Theo took a seat beside Dinah and put a hand on your back. "Dee, you and the boys are going to stay with me tonight, okay?"

He had some fucking nerve. Was he trying to imply that she was going to go postal on her sons? "I'm thirty-four years old, Theo. I have a perfectly good house. I'm taking the boys to our house."

"First of all," Theo said, "you're drunk, so you're not going anywhere." He sighed and squeezed her shoulder in the palm of one hand. "Second…Dinah, this isn't a request. Your husband just died, okay? You gotta stay with me tonight."

"Mom?" Phil was on her other side. She turned to look at him and saw that, for the first time since she'd seen him in the waiting room, the look in his eyes wasn't either sullen or murderous. It was…she blinked her eyes to clear them and squinted at Phil. Yes, it was worry. Or sadness. Or something along those lines. "Mom, I want to stay with Uncle Theo tonight. Please?"

Were all eleven-year-old boys equipped with the same ability to turn their mothers into half-melted butter? This had to be unique among the Derensky children. She remembered Forrest being able to get out of just about anything with the same pleading tone. "Fine, we'll stay with Uncle Theo," Dinah said, and spared a thought to the hope that she wasn't slurring her words. This was a shitty example to set for her sons, but maybe she could keep fallout to a minimum. "And Bill. Theo, is Bill with you?"

"Yeah, I took him home. He's useless right now."

"Good," she said. "I mean, good that he's home. Not good that he's useless." God, she hoped he wasn't going to get fired for acting like a human being.

"Speaking of home, I better get these guys over there," Theo said. He reached around Dinah's back and, going by the indignant yelp, ruffled Phil's hair. "It's late and they need sleep."

"You need to be with your sister," Boaz said from where he was leaning against the bar, munching from the pile of Tam Tams that Benny hadn't put down his throat. "If y'trust me with your car, I can drive 'em home. You stay here with Dinah."

Theo scratched his temple. "How much have you had to drink today?"

"Three beers at the party, but that was hours ago," said Boaz. "Had a lot of water since then. I'm fine to drive."

"Okay." Theo threw him his keys, which Boaz neatly caught. "Just don't drive like a maniac. I don't want to have to bail anyone out tonight. Noah and Dwight already ran off somewhere, and it's probably criminal."

"Don't worry about me." Boaz jingled the keys and stood up. "Come on, boys, your mam's got to have some time with your uncle. Come with me, I'll take you home." Miraculously, both Phil and Caleb trailed – yawning, that must have been why - after him, two ducklings after a baseball-cap-billed mallard, and Caleb even put in the effort to close the door after Phil and Boaz had disappeared through it in front of him. Would wonders never cease?

"Benny," Dinah said as she held up her empty glass, "I need more booze." The edge of the glass, she saw, was filmed with wine-sugary lip prints, and when she experimentally touched the rim with her lips, it was sticky.

"Got to open another bottle, then. Just a minute." Benny bent down behind the bar and came back up with a full bottle, which he expertly jimmied open with a corkscrew. The empty bottle was standing next to the re-stacked pyramid of clean wineglasses. "How much d'ye want now?"

"Gimme as much as you're comfortable with," she said. Benny poured her glass a third or so of the way full – bastard – and she made a face at him before raising it to her mouth again and sipping. _Tastes way better going down than beer does coming up_ , she thought, and giggled, then rested her elbow on the bar for better drinking support.

The world narrowed to the blurry golden liquid in her glass, the rushing of her own blood in her ears, and the faint buzz beyond her borders of the conversation that Theo was having with Bram. Dinah couldn't be sure, since it was beyond her jurisdiction, but she thought that Theo might be debating the merits of scotch versus whiskey with himself while Bram listened and grunted agreement. Sounded like the kind of thing her brother would do.

So would Vince. If he were here right now, he would poke fun at her so hard for sitting there like a morose wallflower and drinking alone. Dinah took another swig and inhaled hard; the smell of her sweaty hair hit her nose hard. Vince's hair got sweaty, too, especially in bed in the morning, and she always had to get on his case to get in the fucking shower already, but it was a smell she wouldn't trade for the world.

She couldn't anymore, she realized. That smell was gone from her life forever, and soon she would forget. And with that, she felt her throat tighten.

"Dinah?" Benny asked. "Are you all right?"

"No," she choked. "No. No." Her vision was all blurry again, but this time, it was from the tears gathering in her eyes and spilling hot and wet down her face. "Vince is _dead_ , Benny," she said around a hiccup. "He's _dead_."

"Oh, shite." Benny set down his cloth and came around the bar to swoop her up in a hug. "Theo!" he shouted, arms around her. "Theo, it's hittin' her."

"Fuck, Dee…" Then Theo's arms were around her, too, and Bram's, and she was slipping off the stool and sinking to the floor with the safety net of their hugs surrounding her. The hiccups and sobs came as uncontrollably as the memories flashing through her head: Vince's smell, Vince's soft curls when she buried her hands in his hair, Vince's smile when she held his head against her belly so that fetal Phil would kick him in the ear. That was all that she had left of him now, and it wasn't the same. It would never be the same again.

"Shhh, Dee," Theo said in her ear. "It's okay. Get it out." Someone's arms tightened around her waist and she leaned into a shoulder. "Take as long as you need." There was a hand stroking her hair, running fingers through it to her neck.

 _Dayenu_ , she thought. _This'll have to be enough_. And with that, she sank into the fog.

 **Notes:**

If you guys want to yell at me for this chapter, I can be found at .com .

Glossary  
 _Beshert_ : (a match) made in heaven (Yiddish)  
 _Hi atzuvah_ : she's sad (Hebrew)  
 _Rotzeh litkan, shoteh_ : (I) want to cheer her up, you fool (Hebrew)  
 _Mitzuyan_ : excellent (Hebrew)  
 _Todah_ : thank you (Hebrew)  
 _Ka'itz, lo?_ : fun, no? (Hebrew)  
 _Ken_ : yes (Hebrew)  
 _Dayenu_ : (it would have been) enough (Hebrew), the title of a popular Passover song.

Tim Tams are matzah crackers commonly eaten in the US during the Jewish holiday of Passover, since those who observe the holiday can't eat anything leavened (bread, beer, etc.).

And for those of you who would like family trees that connect characters to names, here they are. Warning: they're massively spoileriffic for this chapter.


	10. Neither Can the Floods Drown It

i.

This was the third day in a row that Dinah had awoken to the sun on her face while tangled in a nest of other people's limbs, but it was the first day that she'd awoken there to Theo shaking her. "What?" she mumbled into the pillow smashed against one cheek. "Theo?"

"It's the funeral today, Dee," Theo said gently, incongruous with the hard shake he gave her shoulder "C'mon, you gotta get up."

 _Fuck_. "Fine," she said, and sat up. Phil and Caleb were entwined leg-over-leg, sprawled over Bill, who himself looked to have had an arm across her back until she moved. "What time's it again, Theo?"

"Right now, it's seven, but the funeral's at nine-thirty," said Theo.

Dinah stretched her arms up over her head, accidentally bumping a nearby Rug in the fuzzy noggin in doing so. He meowed angrily at her and stuck his claws into the bottom sheet. "Do I have to?" she asked as she gave Rug an apologetic scratch under the chin. Yes, it was an amazingly childish thing to say and she was already feeling secondhand embarrassment for herself, but it had to be asked - just in case there was any chance she didn't have to look at Vince's coffin while a rabbi dryly droned on, summarizing his life when no one truly could.

"Yeah, you have to." Theo scratched the base of Rug's tail, and Rug canted his butt up towards his hand. "Who's a good boy? Who's gonna guard the house while Aunt Dee goes to a boring funeral?"

"Vince's funeral is _not_ going to be _boring_ ," Dinah said, although the question made her smile. "Melkor said he'll play 'Highway to Hell' like he wanted, remember? And since when am I anyone's aunt?"

"Since Rug became my cat son," Theo answered, deadpan. "And I got my doubts about Melkor. You remember how many times he threatened to blame us if someone sued?"

Dinah huffed and rolled her eyes. "No one's suing," she said as she stretched her legs out. "I mean, God, it was _Vince's_ will, and it's not like I'm contesting it." Before she'd sat down in a funeral parlor two days ago, still drained and shaky from crying herself to sleep in Theo's arms and bed the night before, it had never struck her how ironically twisted it was that Vince had to be dead to enjoy the song he'd stuck in the will as a funeral demand.

"Dinah, you're up?" Bill said with a yawn. She glanced at him while he disentangled himself from the covers and both of her sons. He had the worst bedhead she'd ever seen outside of her own family's heads, his face was creased from the pillow, and she could practically _see_ his breath, but Theo was just looking at him with that weird fond expression. Must've been love, or mockery would have come into the picture by now.

"Gotta go to the funeral," she said with a shrug that she hoped came across as nonchalant. She did not need another night of informal suicide watch. "I think we need to be at Melkor's early." While she'd lost the bet with herself in that Melkor had not, in fact, let his sons commandeer the funeral, he'd still done a bang-up job as far as she could tell. It wouldn't do to invoke his curmudgeonly old-man wrath by not being early enough.

"Then you'd probably best wake the boys up," Bill said. A slight nod and a glance that he held with her for a few seconds longer than was necessary were the only indicators that he'd heard her tone, or maybe divined the reason behind it. "If they're going to mess about getting ready…"

"Oh, they definitely will," Dinah told him. "Yeah, they're kids. They're going to mess around." She shook the shoulder of the son nearest her, which turned out to be Phil. "Phil, hon, time to get up. It's Dad's funeral today."

Instead of opening his eyes, Phil rolled over and faceplanted into the pile of comforter at the end of the bed. "Don't wanna," he said. Jeez, when they said that the phrase _I hope you have a kid just like you_ was a curse, they weren't fucking kidding.

"You gotta. Up and at 'em." She pinched a fold of skin over his collarbone just hard enough to make him whine into the bedclothes. "Uncle Theo was nice enough to put you and your brother's suits out after you went to bed, so you don't even have to bother finding your clothes. You can be a lazybones _after_ you put it on."

"I don't want to see Dad's _body_ , okay?" Phil said angrily, lifting his head out and glaring at her. His face was red from its prolonged crushing against the comforter, which made him look way more riled up than he probably was. " _You_ didn't look at Dad's body!"

" _Phil!_ " Theo said. "Shut the hell up, kid."

 _Below the belt_. Theo was absolutely right. Where had she gone wrong, to have raised a kid who was such a selfish little fucker in times of stress? He needed a good whack upside the head from someone his own age. "Yeah, I didn't look at your dad's body and neither will you. We don't do open caskets, Phil, what the hell've you been reading?"

"Noah said –"

"Don't listen to Noah," Dee interrupted him. "And I mean ever." Dwight, at least, had a perfectly good house of his own. She saw no reason why he couldn't bring Noah there and have wild sex instead of camping out on her brother's couch with the troublemaker and filling Phil's head with lurid, macabre crap. Maybe Noah had valid reasons for wanting to stay away from a house that had Danny in it, or to avoid bringing a lover home, but Dwight had no such excuse. _His_ brother had his own apartment. "You won't see any bodies at the funeral, Philip Tuvia. Now get your buns out of bed."

"You're not making Caleb get up," Phil complained. He ruffled the blond haystack on his head, which – while impressive – was still puny in comparison with Bill's mess.

"I will as soon as you stop arguing with me," she said. "Caleb?" She put a hand on Caleb's head. "You awake yet?"

Caleb stirred with a rustle of thin, ever-lengthening arms and legs in the crisp cotton of the sheets. The child was turning into a praying mantis before her very eyes. "Now I'm awake," he said. "'S'it time to get up, Mom?"

"It is, Caley." Dinah allowed herself one run of her fingers through Caleb's curls. "We need to be at the funeral home in about two hours." She looked at the clock: seven-ten. "No, an hour and fifty minutes. We need to start moving."

"Oh." Caleb sat up and looked at her, then at Theo. "I think I want to change in the bathroom. Will you change with me, Uncle Theo?"

To his credit, Theo didn't laugh or even tell Caleb that he was too old to be pulling this shit, like Dinah wouldn't have been surprised to hear if this were any other occasion. "Sure, Caley," he said instead. "Phil can come, too. We'll do guy time in the bathroom." A snort escaped her, and Theo shot her an evil look. "That's disgusting, Dee."

"Then I'll come, too," said Bill. "We'll have a bit of fun and you can watch me shave. Your mother can have the bedroom all to herself."

"I already know how to shave," Caleb said, standing up. "I watched Uncle Theo shaving his neck beard, right, Uncle Theo? You rub the razor on your face and then you yell a lot and start bleeding."

"Er." Bill's mouth and forehead wrinkled into an expression of disgust. "That's the worst-case scenario. It shouldn't happen if you're careful."

"No," Dinah said, "I think Caleb's got it right." Especially when Theo was in college and still living at home. She could swear that there were some bloodstains in the tile grout that neither Theo nor Mama had ever quite managed to scrub out. "Phil, go watch your uncle shave his neck. You can learn a lot from his profanity."

"Come on, you two, we need to give your mom time to dress in here," Theo said. "I'll teach you how to shave your necks and swear in Hebrew." He bent down and picked the boys' suits up off the floor where they were laid out. "Bill, can you get my suit out of the closet with your stuff? It's in a garment bag."

"Sure," Bill replied. He stood up, and Dinah saw that his pajama top was coming unbuttoned. At least he'd worn pajamas, which was probably a nod to the fact that she was there. Theo was wearing boxers and a tank top that had fallen apart most of the way. "Just a minute."

"Do I have to take a shower with Caleb again?" Phil said, and made a face. "He's gross."

"Shut up!" Caleb stuck out his tongue at Phil. "At least I didn't pee in the shower!"

"Hotel room," Dinah said, in response to Bill sticking his head out of the closet, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. "This was three years ago. We were on a time crunch."

"Got it." Bill's head disappeared, the situation apparently having been explained to his satisfaction. He reappeared a few minutes later with Theo's suit over one arm (and dragging on the floor), and another set of clothes over the other. "All right, have we got all our things?"

"Underwear," said Theo, and pulled a pair out of his drawer. They were not, Dinah was relieved to see, novelty boxers. The ones he was wearing were patterned with pineapples, and she could only imagine the embarrassment if his pants were to fall down at the service – besides the obvious, of course. He waited for Phil to stand up and then put a hand on one of each of the boys' shoulders, corralling them towards the bathroom door. "Come on, in with you two."

"Right behind you," said Bill, following them. The door closed behind him, and Dinah was left with only Rug, who stared at her with luminous green eyes.

"Don't look at me," she said. "I'm not the one who abandoned you."

Rug _mrr_ ed, then jumped off the bed and headed out the bedroom door, probably for greener and more delicious pastures. Dinah quickly shed her nightgown and underwear, then wiggled into her undergarments and put on the rest of her outfit as quickly as she could. The black skirt and black velvet blazer were way too hot for July and she definitely wasn't sure about the short sleeves on the blazer, but that was the thing about Jewish funerals: they were, by nature, short notice. You had to get the body in the ground as soon as possible, and she supposed that did make sense (albeit in a really disgusting way).

"Mom?" There was a knock from the other side of the bathroom door. Phil. "Are you done in there yet?"

"Almost," she said. "Can you wait a second, Phil? I need to find my shoes."

"Phil," came Theo's voice, "if you need to go to the bathroom, there's a toilet right here."

"But you're looking at me!" Phil protested. "I can't go if you're - _ew_ , Uncle Theo, Caleb farted!"

"You're a liar! I didn't!"

"Sorry," said Bill. "That would be me." Dinah could only imagine that he looked completely shamefaced, and of course, Theo was laughing like a loon.

"Do me a favor and stop with the guy noises," she said loudly. Theo didn't stop laughing, but the noise did subside into a very nasal snort. "Yeah, thanks for your consideration. I'm done." She slid her feet into her black slip-ons and considered maiming whoever it was who'd said that women always took longer to change. If they were dead, she'd dig them up. "You can come back out here. I'll wait in the hallway."

" _Ow!_ "

"Mom, Uncle Theo cut himself," Caleb said, completely unnecessarily. "He's dripping in the sink."

"Great," Dinah said. "Look, if you need me, I'll be in the hall. Try to step on it, okay?" She left the room and closed the door behind her, then flipped the light switch. Why the hell did Theo think it was a good idea to keep his hallways this dark at night when people were over? For the haunted house atmosphere? Yes, she thought with a nod, it was almost certainly that. Her brother was just that weird.

A few minutes later, the door opened and the four suit-clad (except for Bill) guys appeared. Phil and Caleb even looked like they'd had their hair combed – forcibly, maybe, going by the looks on their faces, but still. "Mom, we're all dressed," Phil said. "Do we have time to have breakfast? Dwight always wants breakfast."

"Definitely," she said. "But first…" She felt ridiculous asking for this, but something was happening today that she shouldn't have experienced for at least another forty-five years, and breaking down in the middle of it would just add a metaphorical nut-punch to injury. "Can I get a group hug?"

She was dog-piled before the last word had completely come out of her mouth, and someone had definitely forgotten to shower. Still, it wasn't a bad way to start this fucker of a day.

ii.

Noah always clung in his sleep, so when the sound of several pairs of feet pounding down the stairs – as opposed to the barnacle wrapped around his chest and stomach – woke Dwight, he knew that something had woken Noah up first. "You up?" he slurred.

"Yeah, been up," Noah answered. Dwight opened his eyes to find that his husband (a weird thought if there ever was one) was curled up on the other end of the couch, fiddling with his phone. "Danny called and freaked out at me 'cause Oreet got her period in the middle of the night. I've been talking him down for hours."

"You two better not be porking down there!" Theo shouted from the general area of the stairs.

Noah smirked. "Can't pork near a Jewish funeral," he said. "It's massively unkosher."

"I'm pretty sure Omer could dig up some law that says you're right," Dwight said. He threw off the quilt he'd slept under, yawned hugely, and moved to put an arm around Noah's waist. "Morning. You still calming Danny down now?"

"Texting." Noah shook his phone at Dwight. "I'm sick of talking in the bathroom. Danny can wait on a fuckin' response."

"You guys want some breakfast?" Theo asked, walking into the living room.

"Oreet got her period," Noah said without even looking up. Theo made a revolted face; Dwight had to applaud Noah's sense of comedic timing. "Danny's having a freakout."

"Did I hear you say Oreet started her period?" Dinah said from the doorway. For someone who'd just lost her husband, she sure looked put-together. Her long hair was down, and her knee-length black skirt looked nice with her black velvet jacket.

"Yeah," said Dwight, "and Danny's wigging out."

"What's he wigging out about?" Dinah asked. "Doesn't he know what a period is?"

"It's _Danny_ ," said Noah. "He'll find something to freak out about. In this case, he's short-circuiting because Oreet's not even eleven and now he's going on about _childhood obesity_ and hormones and he doesn't know how to get blood out of sheets and stuff." He rolled his eyes so hard that Dwight half-expected them to keep going like a pair of those cheap googly eyes. "I told him he's a hypocrite. He's always been fat, but he didn't get his first pube 'til he was fifteen or something, and I know that because _I shared a room with him_."

Dinah blanched. "Ew."

"Exactly." Noah stuck up both of his middle fingers. "I was six-ish. Giant 'fuck you' to my wang, right there."

"You're _really_ lucky the boys aren't here right now," Theo said. "This would be really awkward to explain."

"Where'd they go?" Noah asked.

Theo shrugged. "Probably to go bother the cat. You two want some breakfast?"

"Already taken care of," Noah said. He reached under the dust ruffle of the couch and pulled out a box that Dwight already knew was there, having seen Noah stash it there last night after a trip to the local gas station. "Cookie Crisp?" He waggled the box at Theo in a manner that was probably supposed to be enticing.

"You gotta be kidding." Theo stared at the box. "That stuff's super fuckin' unhealthy. Phil and Caleb'll get a sugar rush in the middle of the service."

"Oh, come on, it's a special occasion," Noah said. Theo glowered, and Noah hastily backtracked. "I mean, not special like it's good, just special like this isn't something that happens every day. Thankfully. You know what I fucking meant, all right?"

" _Yes_ , I know what you meant, weirdo." Theo snatched the box, startling a laugh out of Dwight, and tore open the top and the bag inside in quick succession. " _I'm_ not gonna get a sugar rush, though," he said through a mouthful of barely-qualifying-as-cereal.

"Theodor, you're spraying crumbs on the couch," Dinah pointed out.

"And it's gross," Dwight said.

"Come on, you're a _cop_. Haven't you seen murders?" Theo made a mouth-fart, covering one of Dwight's pant legs in crumbs and a half-chewed chocolate chip.

"Aw, yeah, Cookie Crisp!" Dwight looked at the doorway, where both boys and the cat had suddenly appeared. "Can I have some, Uncle Theo?" Phil asked. "I'm really hungry."

"Sure," Dinah said before her brother could open his mouth to let out the insult that Dwight knew had to be coming. "Just grab a b – okay, no bowls," she amended as Caleb barreled over and stuck a hand in the cereal box. "Just be careful. Those are nice suits."

"Hey, I want some, too!" Phil elbowed Caleb aside and grabbed a handful of cereal.

"Don't shove your brother, Phil," Dwight said. Fuck that 'don't scold other people's kids' crap. It took a village to raise grieving kids, Phil was being a little dick, and Dwight was staying in the kid's uncle's house, so that probably gave him honorary uncle status or something.

"Yes, Dwight, _thank_ you." Dee put a few pieces of cereal in her mouth. "Feel free to keep doing that. I think you scared him."

"Deer in the headlights," Noah commented with a half-smile, then choked on his mouthful of breakfast sugar at a sudden buzzing noise. "Hold on," he said, although it came out as more of a gargle. "My phone." He pulled it out of his pants pocket and tapped the screen a few times, then gave a crumby sigh.

"What's going on now?" Dwight said.

"She's got diarrhea and he doesn't know what to do." Noah shoved the phone back in his pocket. "Swear to shit, I'm turning this thing off."

"Noah, too much information," Theo said. "And that's your _sister_. Don't go spreading her personal issues around."

"I agree," said Dwight, sneaking a look at Phil and Caleb. Both of them had the distinct look of children encountering an unexpected rotting corpse, and not the interesting kind from _Stand By Me_ , either. "Inappropriate, Noah."

"Excuse me for answering your question," Noah said. "Hey, Theo? That could've been any 'she.' You're the one who said it was my sister in front of your nephews."

"Oh," Theo said, and filled his mouth with more cereal. Cookie Crisp, Dwight thought, probably tasted a hell of a lot better than his foot.

Then there was a hand on his head, and a growl burst out of his throat. "Noah." He took the hand off and pretended to bite Noah's fingertips, which got a laugh out of Phil and Caleb. "How many times do I have to tell you I'm not a bobblehead?"

"Come on, you killjoy." Noah reached up lightning-fast and stroked Dwight's head again before he could stop him, this time scratching him behind the ears like a goddamn dog. "Rubbing a chrome dome's good luck. Everyone knows that."

"What's a chrome dome?" Caleb asked.

"You know, a baldo. Like Dwight here." Noah scratched behind Dwight's ears. "That's a good dog, Dwight."

Dwight bared his teeth and growled at Noah, but just for a moment. "You're getting creepy there, champ."

"Can't take a joke," Noah said, brushing the crumbs off his khakis. It had been his idea to sleep in their clothes on the grounds that if they had something to potentially ruin, they wouldn't have sex with each other the night before a funeral. Good idea, but now, Dwight noticed, both of their sets of pants were wrinkled. His thighs were also covered in a fine layer of gray cat hair, which would have been fine and dandy if he weren't wearing black dress pants.

"Noah, you got cat hair on you," he said. Noah was wearing khaki-colored cords, so he looked to have fared a little better, but the fur was still sticking up in all directions. It was sort of, Dwight realized with amusement, like Noah was the cat in this situation rather than Rug. "We need to buy a lint roller or something."

"It's not that bad," Theo said. "No one'll even notice unless they're in your lap."

"Well, I don't plan to be in Dwight's lap at the funeral, but I don't know about him," Noah said with a wink.

"Don't even think about it," Dwight said. "No, seriously, Noah, I see that look in your eyes. No shenanigans." They'd had some great sex since their…what was it, anyway? It wasn't exactly a shotgun wedding, even if Noah called it that. Nevertheless, despite the great sex, there was a time and a place for making innuendo, and Noah was squarely in Not the Right Time territory.

"No shenanigans," Noah said, giving a barely-audible sigh. "And I bet I can rustle up a lint roller if you're that bent out of shape about it."

Dinah brushed at her skirt with her palms. "It's okay," she said. "Vince will understand. This family's covered in crumbs and cat hair even when we're not going to a funeral. It's authentic, you know?"

"Yeah." Dwight touched her hand, just in case she needed something to ground her. Dinah wasn't exactly Vince's polar opposite, but he'd been as sunny as the color of his hair would suggest, while she was usually more like Theo, save for when she'd been drinking – not down-to-earth per se, more of a heavy mix of cynical and affectionate. To see her with her normal personality broken into pieces, brought home in a flood of tears, had to have been scary as fuck. No wonder Theo had called him in a panic that night, asking him and Noah to stay.

Noah'd been pissed off at the interruption of their pre-marriage activities, but they'd come over anyway. This was, after all, the family that Dinah claimed it was.

"Don't worry, Dwight," Dinah said. "I'm going to be okay." Though her smile was shaky, it was still a smile.

"Us, too," said Caleb, and took his mom's other hand, leaning his head on her shoulder. "Dad deserves a really good funeral." There was Vince in his face, in his thin body, despite his mother's strong coloring. Vince's laughing eyes, brown instead of that nebulous color they'd always called "hella hazel," were set deeply into his face, and that was definitely Vince's smile.

He was right. Vince was dead, but there were pieces of him in Phil, in Caleb, even in those who'd known him best, like Dinah and Theo. "Yeah," said Dwight. "Yeah, you'll be okay."

iii.

Phil didn't really mean to start beating on Galil. It just sort of happened.

Okay, maybe it was more than just that. Mom would yell at him for beating people up and for lying if she knew. It started when Uncle Theo kept playing that stupid rock-and-roll recording of Hava Nagilah in the car on the way to the funeral home, and it was way too hot in there, and Caleb was a whiny baby the whole ride. He kept saying "Mom, my stomach hurts," and Uncle Theo pulled over twice to make sure Caleb wasn't going to toss his Cookie Crisp in his Charger. Sometimes, he thought Uncle Theo loved that dumb car more than he loved his family.

Then they got to the funeral home, which smelled like old people's perfume and baby powder and that dead skunk that Caleb found on the sidewalk once, and Mr. Melkor – whom Phil wasn't allowed to call 'Old Man Melkor' like Mom did behind his back – frowned and grouched at them about how Dad's song request wasn't appropriate for a funeral. Especially not a Jewish funeral.

"We Jews don't believe in hell," Mom told him when he gave her the news. She crossed her arms over her chest like he was doing to his and stared him right in the eye. "You know that. That makes it a more than appropriate song to play at his funeral. Thumb our noses at the Christian fundamentalists, huh?"

"The guests won't approve," Melkor grumbled. Uncle Theo was right – he was an old grouch, and he _did_ look like he'd just shoved a lemon in his mouth and another one up his ass. His mouth was permanently puckered, even when he talked.

"Mom," Phil said, squirming on the dusty velvet couch, "I gotta go to the bathroom." Melkor had brought them to a little room filled with plastic flowers and a lot of furniture that looked like people had died all over it. This place was making him have to pee like a racehorse.

"Me too, Mom," Caleb piped up. "Really bad."

Mom sighed. "Ron, where's the bathroom?"

Melkor pointed a hard, wrinkly thumb back towards the door to the entranceway. "You go back to the foyer and you'll find it," he said. "First door on the right when you come in. Got two stalls in there."

"Or Caleb can pee in the sink," Phil said. He hated using the toilet at the same time as other people, even at school when he only had five minutes.

"Nice, Phil," said Uncle Theo. "Real classy." Melkor had made a big stink when Uncle Theo wanted to come into the ' _family_ room,' as he said it, with a really big emphasis on the first word. But Uncle Theo had said that he was family, dammit, and then he made a fist, so Melkor stepped out of the doorway. Noah and Dwight and Bill hadn't tried their luck, which was good. Dwight would probably pummel Melkor to a pulp, and Phil figured he didn't want to get punched in the nuts. "You wanna go take your brother and find the head?"

"You make sure he doesn't get lost, Philip," Mom said, and that was how Phil ended up holding Caleb's warm, sticky hand on the way to the bathroom. It _sucked_. He was almost eleven and a half years old and stupid Caleb was ten and a half, but he guessed Mom still thought they were babies who would wander off if they didn't hold hands.

That was when it got worse. Right when they passed that bronze vase full of shiny plastic roses next to the stairway in the front hall, the door opened and Mr. and Mrs. Rabin came in with Galil. Phil wasn't allowed to swear, but if he were sure that it wouldn't get back to Mom and Uncle Theo, he would have said 'fuck.' They were the _last_ people he wanted to see at Dad's funeral after what Galil had done to him.

Galil didn't even look sorry, either! Just scared, and like he was about to grab his mother and use her for a shield. "Hi, Phil," he said softly. "Hi, Caleb." Jerk. He didn't deserve to say hi to them ever again.

"Are you two doing okay?" Mrs. Rabin asked.

"We're going to the bathroom," Phil said. He knew it wasn't really an answer to her question. Still, if he said no, they weren't okay because her son was a dad-murderer, he'd get in so much trouble. It was true, but he'd get grounded for at least a year.

"I have to go, too," Galil said.

"You can go with Phil and Caleb," said Mrs. Rabin, and Phil must have made one of his growls, because she looked at him weirdly. "Phil, are you all right?"

"Yeah, he can come with us." Stupid Galil. He should've peed before he left his house, but that just showed that he was a baby who couldn't think at all. Even his black suit was stupid. It was too small for him, and the color made his hair look like someone barfed on his head.

"But Mr. Melkor said there's just two stalls," said Caleb, furrowing his brow. "Galil's gonna have to pee in the sink, like you said."

Phil stuck his elbow into Caleb's side. "Shut up!" he said through gritted teeth. "He doesn't have to pee in the sink. That's gross." He looked at Mr. and Mrs. Rabin to make sure they weren't mad at Caleb for having what Mom called a 'gutter mouth', and was relieved to see that Mr. Rabin looked like he was smiling through his beard.

"You three go ahead," Mrs. Rabin said. "Galil, come find us in the main room when you're finished. We don't want to be late for the service."

"He won't be late, Sima," Mr. Rabin said. "I don't think the rabbi's even here yet."

Mrs. Rabin looked at the gold watch on her left wrist. "Well, he could get here any second. It's better to be early than late." She pushed a lock of hair out of her face and reached back to adjust her bun. "Go on, Galil, find the bathroom if you need to go."

"I…" Galil began, then looked from Phil to Caleb to his mother. "I don't think I have to go so bad, _Ima_." Was he scared of them? Good. He deserved to be scared. Phil had watched movies with Uncle Theo where someone killed someone else's father, and if he'd learned anything from them besides Uncle Theo's commentary that all that blood was unrealistic, it was that you owed someone else a really big debt when you killed their relatives. Galil was going to owe him and Caleb and Mom forever.

" _Go_ , Galil," Mrs. Rabin said. She sounded snappy, like she was getting impatient. "You won't be able to go if you decide you need to during the service." She reached down and smoothed Galil's hair with her palm – it didn't work. "We'll see you in a few minutes."

"Okay," Galil whispered. His parents started to walk down the long hallway, dark even though it was the middle of the day, and Phil led him and Caleb to the bathroom door. It looked really ugly next to the front door, which was heavy glass with dark, curly designs on it. Mom said that this place used to be a house where people lived instead of died, and the door definitely looked like something that people would choose for their house if they lived a long time ago.

The bathroom stank like old people. "Ew," Caleb said after the door closed behind them. "You can go first, Phil." He sat down on the armchair across from the sink, both of which were old and stained, and looked like they were about to fall apart. "I can wait until you're done."

When Phil went into one of the stalls, he saw that the toilet was old, too. It had a chain to pull instead of a lever to push, and the lid of the tank was cracked across the middle. Maybe because of that – or maybe because he could hear Galil in the next stall – it took a while for him to be able to pee, but he managed to do it anyway. The toilet made a really loud sound when it flushed, like Uncle Theo's old car with the terrible muffler before he bought his Charger (Mom had to talk him into getting a new one and then, like she usually said while rolling her eyes, _of course_ he got the fanciest one he could find).

Then when he went to wash his hands, the taps had green stuff on them where they attached to the sink, and the water came out brown for a few seconds before it turned clear. "This place is really gross," he said, the flush of a toilet drowning out half his sentence. He hoped Caleb would hear him anyway; he'd gone into the stall when Phil left. Galil came out of the other stall and stood behind him.

"Will you be done soon?" he asked.

"I'll be done when I'm done," Phil answered. He wanted to growl at Galil, and this time, he wouldn't pretend it was something else. More than that, he wanted to scream at him. He wanted to _hit_ him and kick him and punch him so hard he fell onto the floor. What right did he have to stand there and whine when he was the reason Dad was dead?

"But you've been washing your hands forever," Galil said in that horrible baby voice. Phil ground his teeth together, turned off the water, and went to get a paper towel. Keeping Galil out of the sink wasn't worth having to hear him gripe. Galil, he decided, needed to keep his mouth shut if he didn't want trouble. He wasn't the one who was hurt, even though he'd been the one to run into the street, and both of his parents were fine.

Caleb flushed and came out of the stall, and Phil moved to the armchair that his brother had vacated, then crossed his arms and rested his elbows on the armrests. Galil was sagging against the wall with his eyes closed. "Hey, Galil!" he said. "Are you dead over there?" He looked like it, all right. Under the flickering ceiling lights, his skin was grayish, like he was about to either keel over dead or faint.

Galil snapped his eyes open. "No," he said. "Hey, Caleb, you're taking all the paper towels!" He reached over to the stack of paper towels and knocked Caleb's hand away. Drops of water scattered all over the mirror and down into the soap dish.

This wasn't Galil's day. _This wasn't his day_. Phil got onto his feet, charged over to the sink, and shoved Galil hard into the edge of the sink. "It's not about you!" he yelled. "Our dad's dead and it's _your_ fault. Shut up about paper towels!" He drove his fist into Galil's stomach, a move that didn't work very well because Galil's stomach was fat and solid enough that his hand kind of bounced off. He couldn't even punch him like he deserved.

"Ow!" Galil cried out. "Phil, what are you doing?"

"You're a dad-murderer." Phil shoved his hip into Galil's side and pushed him harder into the sink. Maybe he couldn't beat him up right, but he was going to try his best, because Galil owed his whole family for taking Dad away. Dad wasn't going to be able to tuck them in at night anymore or make them sundaes or soothe their nightmares, and Phil had woken up with nightmares since he died.

"Phil, quit it!" Caleb said. "You're gonna get in trouble!"

"I don't _care_." Phil punched Galil's belly again, and going by the grunt he got, he was effective this time. "Caleb, he killed Dad!" The people in movies always knew what to say at times like this without sounding seriously awkward, so as quickly as he could, he searched his brain for the right phrase. "We can't let him get away with it."

"I didn't kill your dad," Galil protested, both hands on his belly. He didn't sound like he really believed it, though, because his voice was all wavery. "Your mom said I didn't. She said it was okay!"

"Mom was _lying_." You didn't tell someone that it was their fault someone was dead, not if you were a grown-up. Didn't he know anything? Phil grabbed two handfuls of Galil's hair and pulled on it hard. Tears immediately appeared in Galil's eyes. "If you didn't run out in the street instead of waiting for your dad, our dad wouldn't've run after you and he'd still be alive!"

"Yeah, Phil's right!" Caleb went up behind Galil and yanked his arms back, or at least tried to. It wasn't even hard enough to get his elbows out to the side, because Caleb had weak, skinny arms, but at least it was something (not like Galil was trying to fight back, anyway). It meant Caleb wasn't about to go running off and tattle to Mom and Uncle Theo. He had Phil's back, even if he couldn't pull Galil's arms behind his.

Phil felt a grin spreading across his face. He gave Galil another push, and stomped on one of his feet for good measure. "See, Galil? Caleb says I'm right, too." His heart was hammering and his forehead felt sweaty, but it didn't matter because right now, he wasn't even Philip Tuvia Adler-Derensky anymore. He was Magneto, or maybe Batman, throwing vigilante justice into people's faces behind the authorities' backs. Magneto was invincible and so was he, and Magneto had never gotten in trouble with his mom for it, either.

"Phil," Caleb said.

"What?" Phil looked up from another stomp to Galil's shoe, this time with all the power he could muster up to slam it down. His eyes caught on Galil's face, which was red and teary; his lower lip was wobbling, and he still hadn't even made a move to try to get away, much less punch back. He probably didn't have any fighting spirit at all.

"I'm not gonna hold him anymore." Caleb dropped Galil's arms. "It's probably time for the funeral, anyway. I have to talk about Dad and I don't want to be late." His eyes were fixed on the ground, and half his lower lip was between his teeth. Probably scared he was going to get beat up, too, and honestly, he should've. Who made a promise and then welched five minutes later?

But he might have been right, and if he was, then Phil needed to get out to the funeral, too. Mom would come looking for them if they were late. He pointed at Galil as he stepped back from him and looked him up and down to see if he was bleeding, which it turned out he wasn't. Good. "Don't tell your mom and dad about this," he said in the scariest voice he could get out of his throat. He wished he'd thought to say that earlier, because Mr. and Mrs. Rabin were pants-wettingly scary when they were mad. It was why Galil hadn't had to talk to any of Dwight's police friends after the accident.

"I w-won't," Galil said with a hiccup. "Promise."

"Good." Phil pointed at him one more time for good measure, then reluctantly took the hand that Caleb held out and went back into the main hall, where the throbbing guitar strains of Dad's favorite song were waiting for them.

iv.

The chairs in the funeral hall were padded, but Bram's seat was still hard against his rear. He shifted from buttock to buttock and clamped his lips together to avoid loudly asking why there couldn't be softer chairs for funeral-goers. Ron Melkor was adding insult to injury for people who were already in mourning, who

 _the rabbi's face is loud and Benny's  
hair is bright as fire and sounds build upon  
sounds to strike a clangor in my head_

had headaches. There was a head of paprika hair next to him that hurt his nose from the strength, and it belonged to his cousin. But his mind was wandering again and this wasn't the time. This was Vince's funeral. Boaz and Benny had talked to him about the consequences of interrupting people's time before. He pressed his fingertips to the shimmy of veins beneath his forehead and tried to ignore the spice.

But it was hard to ignore the spice sack. Benny took up nearly two chairs, and as Bram watched, he shifted and both of the chairs that took his weight creaked, bringing a blush to his cheeks and a crease of shame to his brow. It was unkind of Melkor to buy terrible chairs, really, when some mourners were fat and bound to be humiliated as a result.

Bram leaned over and patted Benny's knee. " _Atah yafeh m'od,_ " he said. Benny tilted his face up with a puzzled blink. Oh. He must not have understood the onrush of thoughts through Bram's head, even though they had to be visible in a blue whoosh,

 _the scars in my head are the_  
 _scars in the body are the_  
 _scars in the seams of the wood that_  
 _make up this funeral hall and it could be why_

flooding over as fast and hot as the blood had flooded out of Vince's body. It had broken. He wondered how well Melkor had been able to sew him up; it was funny how much more easily humans could be put back together than eggs, but Vince had died and Humpty Dumpty hadn't.

Rabbi Fleischer, whom Bram had heard joke at synagogue once that his name and his vegetarianism were constantly at war, finished a final deep 'amen' and cleared his throat. "Vincenzo's son Caleb would like to say a few words about his father," he said into the microphone on the lectern. The black of the microphone clashed with the deep brown wood of Vince's coffin and Bram's eyeballs were whimpering. He could hear them.

Boaz elbowed him. "Bram," he said under his breath, "you're shakin'. Can ye hold it together 'til it's over?"

" _Ken_ ," he said. There was English brewing in his cranial vault and it slipped up his throat as "douche", but he burped it back down before it could come out and offend people. " _Y'khol_."

"Good," Boaz said. "Good. Right, when we get home, you can stay in bed the rest o' the day."

That was the best solution. Boaz let his eyes unfocus and blurrily looked up at the podium, where Caleb looked far too small to be standing there. He was too small to have a dead father, absolutely. "My dad," Caleb said with a quaver in his voice, and stopped short. He tried again. "My…my dad was – the best."

"God, is he going to make it?" Benny whispered.

"Wouldn't've gone up there if he couldn't," Boaz replied.

Bram, for his part, squinted at Caleb. He looked like he was in the middle of swallowing down whatever was strangling him, and indeed, as soon as his throat stopped moving up and down, he found his voice. "Mom says that my dad brought Phil into the hospital half an hour after I was born," he said. "She was really tired and they almost didn't let Dad in 'cause she says I took a lot of blood out with me." A laugh ruffled the audience, and Bram smiled, even though he could see Caleb's eyes nearly brimming over with tears

 _Dinah broke like a_  
 _machine and pieces_  
 _hit the ground everywhere around her_  
 _but he breaks as a waterfall_  
 _in one smooth wet arc down down down_

and his chin shaking.

"Well," said Benny, "would you look at that? Brave little bugger, eh?"

Boaz shushed him with a finger against his own lips, dividing his mustache into neat halves. It was a good look on him, Bram thought. "Don't you ruin his moment, Ben."

"Dad really liked popsicles," Caleb said. By the second, his voice seemed to be casting off more of its quaver. "Even in the winter. But one time, Phil and I got the flu really bad and we were dehydrated and Mom kept trying to give us water, but it didn't help. Dad only had one box of popsicles left, but he let us have all of them anyway. He held the sticks for us, too."

Bram pressed the palms of both hands against his forehead. Oh, he wanted to laugh at that, and surely he would have been able to if the pain in his head wasn't blocking the sounds in his throat. The paprika of Benny's hair – and perhaps there was some cinnamon there, too – clashed wildly with the sweet smell of the gel in Boaz's, and the walls were shimmering with the faint, muffled sound of a child crying somewhere.

"Mi- _graine_ ," he ground out. His Hebrew capacities were trickling away with the blood pulsing through his swollen head. When he opened his mouth again, only air whistled and rasped against the back of his throat, not any more of the infrequent English that required no translation from his cousins. There were only isolated words bouncing against the walls of his swollen brain: the _balnoi_ of Russian that described his condition, the _douleur_ of French and his forehead both, and a clanging that needed no language but was louder than all of

 _bells in my head bells in my  
ears ringing my nose my eardrums my  
brain and my eyes and my bones_

them combined.

" – every time I got an A in something." Caleb's voice pierced through the clamor. Bram focused his fogged eyes on the boy at the podium, which was even larger than it had been five minutes ago. "Sometimes I got Cs, but he always said everyone's good at different stuff and helped me study. I usually did better when he helped me."

"Bram, you all right?" asked Benny. "D'you need to go home?"

Bram shook his head hard against the reciprocal shaking of his skull. No, he wasn't going to let this earthquake of a migraine win. " _Lo tzarikh_ ," he said in as soft a tone as he could. Benny raised a skeptical eyebrow, shifting to more chili powder than paprika. There was no doubt that Boaz was doing the same. " _Emet,_ " he insisted. A child's comfort was more important than his own.

"Mom and Dad did movie nights on the couch and we weren't allowed to have any of their popcorn," Caleb said, wrinkling his nose. "They were really gross. I don't think they ever watched any of the movies." Boaz snorted with laughter next to him. The sound wrapped around a spike of a sob from the child in the back and filled Bram's head with the curdled metal smell of wet paint. "But it's okay, because it meant they didn't get divorced like a lot of my friends' parents."

Bram wished that he could give him a bear hug, or bring Benny up there to give him a better one. There was nothing in Caleb's stance or tone that indicated he wasn't up there completely wholeheartedly, or that his words weren't his own. It was a rare ten-year-old whose sentences came out glowing like that. Bram remembered being his age; his bravery extended to daring to come inside with scuffed shoes after he kicked a can into the sunset.

"And I, um…" Caleb stopped with a spitty screech of microphone feedback and an uncomfortable look on his face, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. His next sentence came out tripping over itself. "Galil, I'm really sorry about what happened in the bathroom. I didn't want to. I hope you're okay."

The sobs behind Bram grew louder at that, less muffled. He squinted and strained to see Dinah in the front row as she turned her head. There was a look of absolute bloody murder on her face, and he suspected there would be a whip-sharp, colorful questioning of both sons later. If the muscles of his head and neck would un-crimp enough to let him look behind him, he thought that he'd probably see both Rabin parents sporting similar looks.

"Wonder what he did," Boaz murmured. Bram shook his head and declined to even try to answer. Instead, he put his head in his hands to drown out the sound of his headache and

 _bells hit hard against my_  
 _bones, on my brain, like they want_  
 _to clang my name to me_  
 _bram bram bram Bram BRAM_

v.

His eyes were blurry and hurting and his nose was a snotty mess and there was a wet patch on his collar and he couldn't see _Ima_ and _Aba_ anywhere around him, or even remember where he'd left them. There was a man next to him who was skinnier and taller than Aba and he didn't have a beard and he had long hair, but it didn't matter because he needed a hug and a kiss and his blanket. His stomach was hurting and he needed to curl up in bed, under his blanket. He needed Caleb to say he was sorry to _him_ instead of telling it to everyone where it was going to get Galil in trouble.

"Who's this?" said the man. His hair was as shiny as _Ima's_ jewels, the ones he wasn't allowed to touch even after he washed his hands, and he kept his voice in a whisper because Caleb was talking about all the good things his dad did for him before he died. It _was_ Galil's fault he was dead, it was, Phil had the right to hit him because Galil Aaron Rabin was a dad-murderer like he said.

"Galil," he said. Tried to say. His voice was thick in his throat and it was so hard to talk that it hurt. There was a lady next to the man, almost as pretty as him except her hair wasn't as shiny or white, and she was looking at Galil, too.

The man elbowed the lady. " _That_ Galil, Al?"

She nudged him back, and he hissed through his teeth. "Shut up, Randall. Your nemesis is going up there and you need a distraction." She was probably his wife, and she was alive because nobody had run into the street and made her run after them. Galil's eyes spilled over and his stomach knotted up and noises started coming out of his nose and throat again. His lungs and throat felt swollen and icky again, and now he needed to breathe, too.

Then there were hands under his armpits, and the man picked him up and put him on his lap. He hugged him and rubbed his back, just like _Aba_ did when Galil was having a lung attack in his throat, and he _shh_ ed him softly. "You'll be okay," he said, then he repeated it over and over into Galil's ear while his hands ran up and down his back.

"Funerals are tough, aren't they, pal?" said the lady.

They had it wrong. They didn't know that Mr. Vince was dead because of what he did, and he didn't deserve to be on anyone's lap, but he couldn't lie. _Aba_ always said that it was worse than anything to be dishonest. "It's my f-fault," he hiccupped. "I'm why he's dead."

The hands on his back suddenly stopped moving. "Jesus," the man said. "Did Derensky tell you that?"

"No," Galil said around new tears. "Phil and Caleb." It took him a long time to get their names out, because his belly and his feet and the top of his head were still hurting from them beating him up, mostly Phil. He didn't think Caleb wanted to beat him up, but he'd still held Galil so that his brother could do it, and he and Galil had had sleepovers before. That hurt even more than the punches.

"His nephews," said the man as he started rubbing Galil's back again. "He brought them to Take Your Kids to Work Day once." He smelled really good, like that man perfume that some guys wore, except this one didn't make him cough his lungs out or anything. One time, _Aba_ had to yell at some older boys who were wearing something that made Galil's throat go tight and he called it _that damned Axe_ and Galil wasn't sure how you could wear an axe, but he was still glad _Aba_ stood up for him. He wished he were on _Aba's_ lap. This one was nice, though.

"Those are the ones whose dad is up there?" the lady asked. The man must have nodded or something, because she let out a big sigh. "Wow. This whole thing's a giant clusterfuck. Honey – Galil, did you say?"

"Mm-hm." Galil nodded and burrowed his chin into the man's good-smelling neck. There wasn't really any stubble on it, not like _Aba's_ big, bushy beard. It tickled when he got good-night kisses. This man's chin and neck didn't tickle him at all.

"I'm so sorry they said that to you, Galil," she said. "You're not the reason Mr. Adler-Derensky is dead. It was an _accident_ , sweetie, do you understand?"

"Al," the man cut in, sounding like he was about to laugh. "Alice, listen to this. Derensky's actually killing it up there. Galil, it might make you feel better to hear it."

Galil rubbed his nose on the man's shoulder and hoped he wouldn't notice. _Ima_ hated when he did that. When he focused his ears really hard, he could hear Dr. Derensky ("Call me Uncle Theo, jeez, Galil, I'm not old enough to be a fu – flippin' emeritus") talking where Caleb had been talking earlier. "- best brother-in-law ever, as well as the best dad, if you'd believe his son," he said. "And Vince always taught his kids to tell the truth."

The man snorted. "Not when it comes to other kids, apparently."

"Randall," the lady scolded, "behave."

"What can I say about my brother-in-law?" Dr. Derensky said. It sounded like he was asking, but this was a funeral and Galil didn't think anyone was going to answer. Then Dr. Derensky answered himself. "To Vince," he said. "If you were born a year later, you'd have been right on time for the worldwide release of your favorite song, but as my sister has confirmed, you always had to come first."

Everyone around them started laughing and Galil didn't know why, but the man made a noise like he was choking on his spit. "Oh my _God!_ " he gasped, once he'd finished coughing. "Alice, oh my freaking God, please tell me you heard that."

The lady sighed. "I already heard him, Randall. I don't need you to re-dub this speech. Keep your mouth shut or I'm delivering you to Dr. Derensky _hog-tied_ , and I'm letting him do whatever he wants to you for disturbing the funeral and being a nuisance."

"You're disturbing me, too," someone complained. "Mom, I'm trying to play my game."

"Luukas," said the man a little more quietly and a lot more seriously, "unwritten rules."

"But you _said_ I could and you broke your promise," said Luukas, whoever he was, and that was interesting. Galil didn't know there were going to be any other kids here. He wiped his eyes again – they hurt a lot, but he didn't think he was going to cry again – and took his face out of the man's neck, looking over his shoulder to where the voice was coming from. There was a boy with shiny hair the same color as the man's sitting on his other side, and he had on a black suit that was way nicer than Galil's.

"Remember what we talked about, Luukas," the man told him. "Flexibility, right?"

" _Right_ ," the boy said. He frowned at the black thing in his lap, which looked like a Nintendo DS. Man, _Ima_ and _Aba_ said he couldn't have one, but he'd wanted one for ages. It wasn't fair that someone else got to bring one to a funeral. "But you were being really loud, Dad."

The man gave Galil another couple of pats on the back. "Maybe Galil would like to share your game," he said. "How about it?"

" _Dad!_ " Luukas slammed the game down hard on his lap. It went clattering onto the floor and slid under his chair, and Luukas's face scrunched up like a stepped-on piece of paper. "Dad, you said I didn't have to talk to people!" he said. His teeth were chattering, but it wasn't cold in here, so that was weird. "I didn't want to go and you said I could have the DS and I didn't have to t-talk to anyone and –"

"You're right, Luukas," the man interrupted. He leaned in and put his arm around Luukas. "I did promise. Is the noise getting to you?"

" _Yeah_ ," Luukas said. "A lot." He pulled his knees up to his chest and put his arms around them.

"Me, too," said Galil. Mr. Bram acted like Luukas sometimes, and Mr. Boaz said that he was 'having an episode' when he got shaky and went inside himself or sometimes screamed. "I'll get your game." It was his fault that Luukas had dropped it, too, but at least he could fix this problem.

"No, it's okay," said Luukas, rubbing his hand across his eyes. His voice, as _Ima_ said, went down a few notches in volume, and he knelt down to reach under the chair and get his DS. "I guess you can share if you want to."

"Oh. Just if you want to." Galil looked up at the man. "Um, I'm gonna get off your lap, Mr…I don't know your name." He should've asked it first thing – that was so rude of him. Good thing _Aba_ wasn't there.

"Greenwood," said the man. "Randall Greenwood. You can call me Randy – I mean, dammit, call me Randall!" The lady started laughing and he groaned. "And my wife is Aliisa, but you can call her Alice."

"Randall and Alice," Galil repeated. Both of them nodded. "Luukas," he said, "what game are you playing?"

Luukas slid his eyes sideways at Galil. "Nintendogs," he said after a few seconds. "You can watch if you want."

"Progress!" said Alice. "Randall, shove over so Galil can sit down." Randall nodded and moved without a word, and Galil took his seat. It was still warm from his butt, which reminded him of the butt-warmer in the front seat of _Aba's_ car. Galil wasn't technically allowed to be up there because he wasn't twelve yet, but sometimes _Aba_ let him sit there when the car was just in the driveway.

Luukas held on tightly to his DS and, after a few seconds, pushed it a little ways across his lap. "This is my dog," he said, pointing to the screen. "His name is Thrandy." The dog had long yellow fur and looked like the kind that would make a piddle on your shoe and then pretend it didn't do it in real life.

"'Thrandy' is a weird name," Galil told him.

Luukas shook his head. "It sounds kind of like my dad's name, that's why I named him that." He pushed some buttons and the dog ran around in a circle. "Dad said I could play if I turned the sound off. Do you want to watch me feed Thrandy?"

"Yeah."

"And then I'll put him in obedience school."

Galil had never had a dog, but maybe this was almost as good as having one. He'd have to ask Mr. Noah later. "Okay," he said. "We can teach him how to do sit-ups and play dead."

"Teach him how to sit up, you mean," said Randall. "Galil, De… _Doctor_ Derensky's speech is almost over, if you want to listen to the end."

"Okay," Galil said. "Thank you." He made his ears focus again, because Dr. Derensky said things that made the grown-ups laugh and he wanted to remember them for when he was older. He didn't understand why coming before a song was funny, but maybe he would someday.

" – friend I had in a while," Dr. Derensky was saying. "Vince, buddy, I'll miss you." He stopped and took a gulp of air. His voice was cracking up really badly. "You ended up being the best thing that ever happened to my sister, so I'm glad I didn't shove you through the screen door when I had the chance. And I'm sorry I almost shoved you through the screen door."

"With friends like him," Randall mumbled.

Dr. Derensky raised his hand and cupped it around something invisible. "Here's to Vincenzo," he said, "husband, father, and the best Simon Pegg-imitating store manager ever. You'll be missed."

"To Vince," everyone repeated, so Galil did, too. It didn't seem so bad now, for some reason. Maybe Mr. Vince would forgive him someday.

vi.

Once, when Dinah was sick with a cold and had gone to bed early, Theo came over to watch movies with Vince and the boys. Phil and Caleb had fallen asleep across Daddy and Uncle's laps, so they'd put them to bed and switched the viewing fare from family-friendly Teletubbies videos (which even Phil and Caleb had been old enough to laugh at mockingly by then) to a much cheesier and scarier bootleg copy of _Day of the Dead_. The scary part came from the fact that it was the terrible 2008 version, which had come out only months before, and neither of them had any idea how something Romero-approved with a budget to match could have such visible CGI.

"There's gotta be a Zen koan out of all of this, you know, to avoid this kind of situation," Vince had said thoughtfully while they watched a rage zombie chomp on the leg of one of the protagonists. " _Do not stand at my grave and weep; I'm fucking dead, so move on, peeps._ "

"Totally," Theo had agreed.

"And then you can do the second verse: _Do not stand at my grave and cry; what the fuck did I just say, dude, I'm dead!_ "

Back then, that had made Theo laugh so hard that his Red Bull came out his nose. Now, it brought a bitter twist to his mouth as the cemetery workers lowered Vince's coffin into the ground. There was a white tent set up over the gravesite, courtesy of the fact that the day was hot and sunny as hell and, without it, the workers would probably drop the coffin on someone's foot. Even Vince would probably object to that.

Rabbi Fleischer, who had followed them to the cemetery after the dubiously-successful service at the funeral home, started the Mourner's Kaddish. He had a great singing voice (which was more like a chanting voice right now), even better than Cantor Saltzman's, and Saltzman had graduated first in his class from cantor school or whatever the fuck they called it. Show-off yeshiva, maybe? Theo would have to Google it later, after everyone had left the post-funeral smorgasbord – or, as Noah had put it yesterday while they were planning it, the "stiff'n'stuff" - at his house.

He let his eyes wander over the funeral guests in lieu of listening to the Kaddish, which he was afraid would make him start bawling like poor Galil if he let himself sink into funeral memories. Gad had taken off his jacket, apparently having lost a battle with the heat if you went by how wet his beard looked, and there were huge sweat circles under his arms. Everyone else had shown a little more fortitude against the climate, but Theo kind of wished they had just bitten the collective bullet and taken off their coats like him and Gad. He had his own hanging off his hand, where Gad's was draped neatly over his arm. The tent stank of sweat, and he closed his eyes and thought of the pies that Bill had made for today to distract himself. Bill himself was at home cooking, on the grounds that hadn't known Vince long enough to truly merit inclusion at the more intimate burial ceremony. He was probably right, but dammit, Theo wished he had a hand to hold.

He also devoted a few seconds to mentally swearing at his nephews, who were not looking nearly as guilty as they should. Those two were going to be grounded until they were forty for what they'd done to Galil, enough to drive the kid into the arms of _Morningwood_ , cursed be Randy's name. Had it not been for their need to get over to the cemetery on time, he had no doubt that Dinah would have whacked their asses red and raw for the first time, and he wouldn't have made a move to stop her.

"Theo!" Dinah poked his ribs. How had he forgotten she was standing next to him? It was probably the heat, or at least that's what he'd blame it on if she said anything.

"What?" he said.

She nudged him again. "Almost time to fill up the grave. I'm going first, but you can do a scoop after the boys if you want to."

"Aren't Vince's parents better qualified to do that?" he asked. Well, sort of parents. They'd divorced years ago due to, according to Vince, "irreconcilable differences" regarding the fact that his father was an antisocial bag of dicks. Theo had met his mother and stepfather a few times, but given his stepfather's expertise with computers and the mucho moolah that came with it, they traveled too much to be able to visit. Last he heard, they were living in Australia.

"My thoughts exactly, but no." Dinah shook her head, pursing her lips. "I called them. Elazar's in the hospital with pneumonia and Dvora can't leave him. We…" She sighed. "We talked for a long time, though. She's pretty broken up."

"Was that when you shut yourself in the den?" Theo said, and watched the funeral workers clear away the cables they'd used to lower the coffin into the grave.

"…Theo." Her tone was one of exaggerated, mocking patience. "I told you when I got out of there that I'd been talking to Dvora, remember?"

"Must've forgotten." He shrugged. "Dee, you know my memory sucks."

"Must be that." Dinah took his hand and squeezed it. "Okay, I'm up. Don't worry, you don't have to shovel if you don't want to." She walked towards the grave, away from him and any protection he could give her, little enough as it was; he almost wished that they were four and twelve again, when her crawling into his bed was sufficient to solve both her problems and his. Their world was so much smaller and simpler then.

Omer, standing next to Gad, was glaring daggers into Dinah's head as she took the shovel that one of the workers held out and hoisted a scoopful of dirt high. He'd done a stint in an Orthodox yeshiva back in the seventies, which he never shut up about (and which served as his qualifications to lead Hillel services in a flock of Jews otherwise uneducated in the "proper way"), and he was probably stewing about the fact that a woman was doing the honors. Theo didn't think that Omer was really a sexist when it came down to it, but tradition was tradition and Theo didn't have a problem admitting that the tenets of his religion had some issues.

Dinah lifted her chin, stared right back at him, and threw the dirt into the grave as hard as she could. "Good girl, Dee," Theo whispered to no one. You couldn't keep a Derensky down if you tried.

"Phil, Caleb," she said, holding the shovel out in front of her, "do you want to come over here and do one?"

Phil and Caleb looked at each other, then hesitated a fraction of a second and ran over like there was a firecracker under their asses. Theo understood, after the lecture and yelling they'd gotten, but since he'd been administering about half the yelling, he knew it was completely justified. There was _no_ excuse for beating up another kid, especially one younger than you. Might not be a bad idea to invite Galil over and let him return the favor, let them see how it felt.

Caleb tried to pick the shovel up, failed, handed it over to Phil, and finally just took the handle while Phil grabbed the middle of the shaft. Another idea came to the forefront of his mind as he watched them scoop together: making them come to the Village and learn how to forge every weekend would undoubtedly make them suitably miserable, and give them some actual upper-body strength in the process.

"It's your turn, Uncle Theo," Phil said after they'd tossed in their shovelful of dirt.

"Okay, Philly." He strode up and took the shovel, filled it as full as he could, and threw the dirt in to land on top of Vince's coffin with a thump. "Dee," he said, "do you want to do another one, or…"

"Can I do one?" Gad asked.

"But it's for family," Caleb said.

"Everyone here was your dad's family, Caleb," Dinah told him with a hint of a smile. Theo could swear that he saw her straightening up and holding herself taller. "Everyone. Theo, hand Gad the shovel, would you?"

He couldn't argue with that logic. Theo waited as Gad rolled up his sleeves, then gave him the shovel. Omer was next, and then the Reisbergs (and Oreet had crazy strength in her arms if she could lift a shovel like that, a reminder not to get on her bad side would be awesome), and even Galil took a turn, although his fingers had to be pried off his mother's sleeve first.

Scoop by scoop, the grave slowly filled up. Theo was very glad that Morningwood had had the tact to absent himself and his family, attached to his kid as Galil had been notwithstanding, before they moved to the cemetery. With his heart currently beating as a lump of sappy mush, Theo suspected he'd let even _him_ put in a scoop of dirt, and that was just an insult to Vince's memory.

"Rabbi Fleischer," said Dinah when the dirt mounded over the top of the grave, "do you want to take the last scoop?"

The rabbi blinked. "I'm flattered, Dinah," he said, "and I'd be honored." He picked up the shovel, which Danny had stuck in the mound one-handed after his last turn, and scraped one last shovelful from the scattered dirt remaining on the grass. When he was finished, he put his hands on his hips and looked down. "Vince deserves every accolade we can give him," he said. "All I can say is this: we're all going to miss him like hell. He was a man who defied description."

"The kind of guy who probably planned to get buried on a hot day like this just to get one last laugh," Theo put in. He wouldn't have put it past Vince to whisper a suggestion to God and laugh his ectoplasmic ass off at them from heaven when it came to fruition.

Dinah ran a hand under her eyes. "It sounds like something he'd do," she said quietly, then raised her voice. "Everyone? Thank you for coming today. Now, if you want, we're going to go to my brother's house for a reception and you're invited."

Theo knew that the cemetery staff was going to dismantle the tent and clear the debris off the top of the grave. He knew that it wasn't their job to finish everything. But as he drove away, Phil and Caleb chattering in the back seat, he couldn't help but look back at the gravesite and think that there was so much they'd left undone.

vii.

The house was full of food and chatter, not that anyone would have expected anything less. There in the living room were Dwight and Noah with plates piled high, sitting on the same couch where they'd spent the last three nights curled around and tucked into each other. Dwight's left hand never left Noah's right the whole time they ate and talked, and the gold band over the knuckle of his ring finger glinted like an announcement in and of itself.

There was Oreet napping in a spare bedroom with Theo's cat sprawled over her stomach, and of course Rug liked _her_ , when an attempt to scratch his chin had earned a set of puncture marks over the back of his hand. Danny had her hand in his and was petting Rug, even as – oh, what was that? Was Brian Feldman rubbing his back? It was easy to imagine things when the blinds were drawn and the early-evening light coming through the gaps between them was full of dust, but this couldn't be mistaken.

(And poor Galil skulking in the yard while he tried to hold back tears that so obviously wanted to come out. The wisps of thoughts in his head spoke of blame, of sorrow that would take years to fully heal, and _oh, please believe me that it's not your fault. I don't blame you. I never did and I never will._ A finger touched his cheek in consolation, but he couldn't feel it. The source was too far removed.)

A flash away, and the baby inside Sima had her lying down in the guest room where Theo's nephews usually stayed, grateful for the fact that Oreet and Danny weren't particularly loud for the benefit of her headache. It had been a hard day for all, hot as it was. If he could have, he would tell her to sleep the evening away if she wanted, because her health came before the dredging up of memory going on downstairs.

There was Gad, glancing at the ceiling every so often as if he could see through it to the guest room above him, while Omer failed to distract him with stories of his more memorable platoon mates in Vietnam, circa 1971 ( _you don't talk about it, do you, but the nightmares that keep you awake and sweating in the moonlit hours are more than simple anxiety over tomorrow's services_ ). The Budin brothers bracketed them on either side, minus Bram – they had taken him home, these considerate cousins of his, and he had a pillow over his head to fight the same kind of headache that was threatening to fell Sima.

And there was the epicenter of it all, where a bird's-eye view would show Bill cutting pies in the kitchen, pies that he could smell but never taste again. There was Theo at the kitchen table with his nephews' hands in his, and Dinah sat across from them and ate potato salad in silence.

 _Dinah, please listen._

 _Dinah, I never wanted to leave you._

 _Dinah, I love you with everything that I have._

She didn't hear. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pressed his cheek against hers, and he didn't feel her tense with recognition – only the tension of her jaw muscles while she chewed. His presence could get no stronger, and his ability to hold out this long had to be miraculous. _Dinah_ , he whispered, and hid his nose in her hair to touch her ear. _I'll always be with you, but you have a life to live._

She lifted her head and looked her brother in the eye. "Theo," she said in a measured voice, "stop talking about my high-school yearbook photo or I will end you. Some of us are trying to move on from the past here."

And Vincenzo Avram Adler-Derensky smiled, kissed her cheek, and let himself fade.

 **Notes:**

Glossary  
 _Atah yafeh m'od_ : you (male singular) are very pretty/good-looking (Hebrew)  
 _Ken_ : yes (Hebrew)  
 _Y'khol_ : [I] can (Hebrew)  
 _Balnoi_ : sick (Russian)  
 _Douleur_ : pain (French)  
 _Lo tzarikh_ : [I] don't need [to] (Hebrew)  
 _Emet_ [It's] true (Hebrew)  
 _Ima_ : Mom/Mommy (Hebrew)  
 _Aba_ : Dad/Daddy (Hebrew)

The Mourner's Kaddish, in Jewish liturgy, is a chanted version of the Kaddish prayer that - in other contexts - can signify such transitions as the beginning or end of a section of synagogue service. The words are the same; only the tune, or lack thereof, differs.

I can be found at .com .


	11. I Am a Wall

"Are you sure you've remembered everything?" Bill asked. "You really haven't got to go this moment, you know. You can always stay and do another sweep of the house."

With a smile, Dinah shook her head and slammed the boot of her car shut, although it was so full that the normal slam was more of a soft thump. "Bill, if you want me to stay, you just have to say so."

"Oh, no, no." Bill leaned against the side of the car and shook his head. "No, Dinah, we've loved having you here, but I know Theo feels terrible about keeping you out of your house for five months."

"Five months?" Dinah cocked her head. "It's really been that long?"

"Yes. More than, actually." Bill held up his hand and began to count down on his fingers. "Vince died on July fourth. It's December twenty-first today, so five and a half months." A cold wind began to blow as if in acknowledgement of the solstice, rustling the last brown leaves on the trees in front of the house and making him shiver under his jacket. "I know the boys have been talking about wanting to go home."

Dinah blew a breath out hard through her nose. "Yeah, they have," she said. "I'm sorry about that, Bill. They've been…difficult. Very difficult. There's a lot for them to be ungrateful for right now and they're definitely acting their ages about it."

"Dee, you leaving?" Theo shouted from the front door before Bill could reply. "Wait for me." He bounded down the front steps and engulfed his sister in a hug. "There," he said after he had finished, and held her at arm's length. "Now you can go. Just needed to get that one last hug in."

"Wow," Dinah said, and cough-laughed. She raised a fist and pounded herself in the middle of the chest. "Way to squeeze the breath out of me, bro."

"Oh." Theo's face fell a bit. "Sorry, Dee, I'll just miss you."

"I'm perfectly fine with loitering around here a while longer," Dinah told him. "Dwight said he'd watch the boys all day if I wanted him to. You know Noah'd be ecstatic to get to feed them ice cream for dinner." But the annoyed look on her face, which Theo with his growing smile didn't seem to parse at all, betrayed her.

"That would be perfectly fine, Dinah," Bill said. "I'd just like to discuss this inside, if it's all right with you." He wrapped his arms around himself, not that it helped very much. The wind was cutting right through the thin polyester of his autumn jacket, which was entirely inappropriate for the season, and he felt like an old man.

"Thin-skinned, are we?" Theo said, yet he still put a hand against the small of Bill's back and began to walk him towards the front door. "You heard the man, Dee. Let's go inside and sip some Earl Grey with our pinkies out."

"I do _not_ put my pinkie out when I drink tea," Bill said in his best affronted tone. Behind them, Dinah smothered a snort. "You've been watching too much Star Trek."

"Captain Picard is hot." Theo ushered him in, then closed the door after Dinah had entered. "I like authoritative British men, what can I say?"

"Captain _Pic_ …!" Bill shook his head and stared at Theo's arse. How could someone so searingly attractive also be so talented at getting one's goat? God had to have been asleep at the wheel when the time came to _evenly_ distribute talents and gifts. "Patrick Stewart was close to fifty even when that show was still airing, Theodor," he said, "so if you're about to suggest leaving me for him, you're quite a bit too late. Unless…" he tapped his chin and pretended to mull over the idea. "…you have a fetish for Geritol and prostate cancer that you didn't tell me about, in which case I wish you well."

"That doesn't sound hot at all. Looks like I'm stuck with you." Theo turned around and bent to kiss Bill on the cheek, which Bill allowed, albeit with two fingers pointed towards his eyes and Theo's in quick succession. He was on to him and his stalling ways, and he wanted Theo to know it. "Do you want a drink, Dee?"

Dinah sighed. "Nothing alcoholic. Hey, Bill, are you ever going to decorate that?" She pointed to the living room, where the Christmas tree that Bill had brought home the week before sat ceremoniously on an old striped bedsheet next to the fireplace. "If you're going to piss the hardcore Jews off, you might as well go whole hog."

"I'm sure I can arrange that, too," Bill told her.

"Badum- _tsch_ ," Dinah said, tinking an imaginary cymbal. "So, a Christmas ham?" She elbowed Bill's arm. "How about bacon and eggs? Lard in your pie crust? Seriously, I'm totally ready to go on this if you are."

"I already use lard in my pie crust, thank you very much." Bill returned the elbowing, which got equally-loud laughs from Dinah and Theo. While Dinah hadn't quite inherited the impressive height that her brother had, she was still an inch or so taller than his piddling five and a half feet, and when she and Theo were amused enough to release their booming belly laughs, he felt as though he'd landed in the middle of Dungeons and Dragons as a Halfling.

"All this talk about trayf is making me hungry," Theo said as he rubbed his stomach. "Dee, do you want some Christmas cookies?"

"Theo, seriously, I'm not hungry," Dinah said. If she were a cat, he thought her every hair would be standing on end and her tail would be vibrating with the desire to dart out of the house, but as was his talent, Theo seemed to be selectively blind.

"Not hungry, yeah, right. Come on, sample the wares!" Theo spread his arms wide.

"Are you sure Bill will let me?" she asked, no doubt referring to the squawk he'd let out when she sneaked up behind him that morning to grab a piece of dough out of the bowl.

"Oh, rub it in a bit harder, why don't you?" Bill said. He did wish she'd let that go. It wasn't as though his wooden spoon had actually landed anywhere. "We're going to be away for Christmas, if you recall. I can't be expected to give up all of my festive traditions just because I live in a household with a religious difference, now can I?"

"It's called a mixed household, if we're going to be accurate," Theo said. His smile widened into an oily leer. "And we definitely mix –"

"Shut up!" Dinah held up a hand. "I don't want to think about your sex life in the daytime. I already had to hear it at night."

"You were here for five months," Theo said as he (thankfully, mercifully) disappeared into the kitchen. "What was I supposed to do, put on a chastity belt?" he called from what sounded like the pantry.

Dinah looked at Bill and shook her head. He echoed the gesture. "How do you put up with him?" she said.

"Do you really want an answer?"

"Nope." She patted his back. "I'm going to go park my ass in the living room, since that appears to be what he wants me to do. You can follow me if you want."

"You have a very interesting way of talking," he said to her back as he did just that. He didn't particularly mind the living room, though. The Christmas tree was real, brought back under cover of night both to satisfy Theo's inexplicable spy obsession and to keep anyone who might complain from seeing the tree of the oppressors. Its origins were clandestine, but it had thrived in its pot, and it smelled wonderful.

"Yup." Dinah kicked off her shoes and sprawled across the couch. "It's an acquired skill." She rested her head against one of the armrests. "Anyway, tree decoration?"

Bill shook his head. "I've been putting it off," he admitted. "My flat's always been too small to really decorate a tree, so I always just got a miniature one. Now I've got this enormous living room to work with, and I'm stuck."

"You could always buy a bunch of lights and just, I don't know, cover the tree in that," she said. "The really big ones, I mean, not those tiny bulbs. You know, the huge multicolored ones that sort of look like butt plugs?"

Bill took a few not-entirely-voluntary steps backward and tried to smooth out the horrified expression he was sure had burned itself onto his face. "I don't want to know." Dinah and Theo had clearly taken their bluntly strange tangents from the same source, one that had to be a few generations back. The descriptions of Tuvia and Rachel Derensky to which he'd been treated didn't indicate that they were anywhere close to this vulgar.

"Sorry," said Dinah, a little shamefacedly. "If it's any excuse, Theo hasn't had a steady boyfriend in years. I always forget I gotta watch my mouth in his house now." She put her hands behind her head. "And our friends have really dirty minds, too. I hate that you have to deal with this much gutter talk."

"I work at a hospital," Bill told her. "I'm used to worse. Yes, it's a bit…well, to be honest, it's a bit predictable, but I'm not bothered at all."

"Hey, what'd I miss?" asked Theo. He was holding a plate piled high with biscuit, which he brought over to the coffee table. "Move over, Dee, I want to sit down."

"You can sit on my feet," Dinah said.

"I don't want to. Move 'em."

"Fine." Dinah drew up her feet to let Theo sit down. "You're such a baby, Theo."

"I prefer to think of it as being finicky about my creature comforts," Theo said, and held up a biscuit. "Here, open up." He zoomed the biscuit towards her mouth and held it there while she took a bite (while rolling her eyes). "See? Making accommodations for me has its benefits."

"I guess you've made enough for me," Dinah conceded, and took the biscuit herself. "Bill," she said once she'd finished it, "you excited to go back to England?"

"Oh, yeah, we never gave you the trip details!" Theo broke in before Bill could answer. "Dee, we need to tell you our itinerary." From Dinah's raised eyebrow, it was clear that she knew exactly how transparent he was, but was electing to keep her mouth shut. In her position, Bill would have done the same – more so, in fact, since he was the one that Theo had held on to and cried on in sporadic bursts for the first two months after Vince's death.

"We're going to Oxford to see my family," Bill said. They'd been pestering him for months, ever since that one buggering e-mail where he'd had the bad luck to mention that there was someone in his life now who wasn't spitting pus up on his scrubs. Cousin Primrose couldn't keep a secret and he should have remembered that. "I've got quite a lot of family."

"No, I know that," she said. "It's why you're doing all this Christmas stuff early, right?" He nodded. "Okay, yeah, so you're going to see your family. They must be excited to have a first-timer in England, too."

"I've already been," Theo answered before Bill could. "Saw the London Eye and all that stuff already. I want to see the real England now."

"Well," Bill said, "you've been to London, not my hometown. We're not exactly Manchester, Theo. I warned you that you might be disappointed." Theo's idea of what constituted 'the real England' seemed to be either a gritty Northern city or the proverbial quaint hamlet. While Bill had to admit that yes, he did come from one of those, England's heterogeneity seemed to have escaped Theo's mind otherwise.

"Yeah, I _remember_ , Billy." Theo patted the space next to him. "Come over here and sit down. I hate it when you stand over there and give me that look."

"Only when you deserve it, dear," Bill said as pithily as he could. He sat down by Theo, murmuring an apology to Dinah for further inconveniencing her with regards to leg room, and immediately felt Theo's arm slide around his waist. "Clingy, are we?"

"We're going to be there for the twelve days of Christmas," Theo said, "and I have no idea how your family responds to PDA." He turned to look at Dinah. "Unless you want us to come back for New Year's. Seriously, Dee, we can."

Dinah shook her head and sat up, folding her legs under herself and reaching over to grab Theo's free hand. "Theo, you've done enough for me," she said. "I already don't know how to thank you for everything you've done so far."

"No need to thank me," Theo said. He withdrew his arm from around Bill's waist and sandwiched her hand in both of his. "Your husband died. Anyone with any human compassion at all would've done the same stuff I did."

"You'd be surprised." She ate another biscuit, this one an iced gingerbread man. Bill was particularly proud of those; for once, the dough had come out an acceptable texture, and the finished biscuits that he'd sampled reflected that.

"Good?" Theo asked. "Nah, stupid question. I know they're good."

Bill squeezed his waist. "Thank you."

"They're really good," Dinah said. "Bill, you're talented." She looked up at the clock over the mantelpiece, though Bill suspected that it was more of a show gesture than a genuine need to know the time. "Sorry, but I'm really not comfortable with Noah feeding my kids dinner. I actually do have to go now."

Theo frowned, but he didn't ask her to stay. If he had begged straight out, Dinah would have caved in an instant, and Bill appreciated Theo's fortitude. "You should take some cookies," he said. "The boys'll love them."

"I'll take you up on that," Dinah said. "You mind if I take this plate? You guys have more in the kitchen, right?"

"That plate is fine," Bill replied. "I have enough biscuits in the kitchen to feed my entire family, all God-knows-how-many members of it." Grandpa Took, who had lived well into his nineties and had earned the nickname of 'the Old Took' near the end of his life, had fathered twelve children and quite a few of them had reproduced. And that was just one side of his family. On the whole, he suspected that he had acquired some new cousins in the years that he'd been away from Oxford, bringing the total up to far too many birthdays to remember.

"I think Phil and Caleb could finish your baking if you gave them a couple of hours," Theo said. "Just look at Phil. That kid's growing a huge appetite lately."

"Puberty," Dinah said with a one-shouldered shrug, "that's all I can say. Phil will be hitting it soon, at least. Caleb has some time, I think."

"He's growing, though," Theo argued. "I think he gets taller every time I see him. You better prepare to fill the fridge every few days if they're anything like me, Dee."

"Okay, okay. Brother knows best," said Dinah, and winked at Bill. He couldn't even begin to imagine the potential inside jokes that constituted the reason why, and decided it would be better not to ask. "I'll see you later, then?" she asked, pushing herself off the couch with both hands and standing up in one move.

"Yeah, call me later," Theo said.

"Love you." Dinah kissed him on the cheek, gave him a hug when he stood up, and picked up the plate of biscuits. "I'll see you later." She left the living room, and Bill heard the front door close, followed shortly by the sound of her car starting.

Theo abruptly sat back down. "She doesn't live here anymore," he said.

"She was never supposed to," Bill told him, "and I think that's a book title."

"No, I mean…it's…she's been here for five months." Theo flopped over and rested his chin on the armrest that Dinah had recently vacated. "I kind of got used to her. Didn't you?"

"I understand what you mean." Bill scooted over and put his head on Theo's shoulder, letting Theo's hair fall over his face. It smelled like shampoo, and he breathed in deeply to take in as much of Theo's everyday scent as he could. "You miss her already?"

"Yeah." Theo sounded so incredibly downhearted that it made Bill want to wrap him up in a blanket and put him in front of a fire, maybe with a rerun of some terrible sitcom playing in the background. "She's my sister, Bill. I don't…am I being a big fuckin' crybaby about this?"

"No," Bill said, and patted Theo's stomach. Theo uncurled a little, and Bill came in closer for a more thorough hug. "No, you're not. You've both had a terrible experience that no one should have to live through at your ages. It's not surprising you don't want to let go of her."

"Mm-hm." Theo put both arms around Bill and, suddenly, their embrace resembled nothing more than two octopodes clinging to each other. "You always know what to say, Bill."

"Well, I don't try," he said, and then something popped into his mind. Oh. Of _course_ he knew how to cheer Theo up, and he couldn't believe he'd forgotten. Yanking himself away from Theo's limbs, he stood up and held up a hand when Theo's face fell. "Don't worry, I'll be back. There's something I want to give you."

"Don't be too long," Theo said. He was still wearing an expression that would have been appropriate for him either being a kicked puppy or having witnessed his puppy being kicked. Bill wasn't sure which was sadder, quite frankly.

"I won't," he said, and left the room to hurry up the stairs, which creaked under his sockfeet, as quickly as he could. The gift was buried in the back of his closet under a stack of spare scrubs, which he knew from experience and a very educated guess that Theo wouldn't touch under pain of death. The prospect of touching other people's germs tended to make people stay far away.

The jumper that he now dragged from between a wrinkled yellow top that looked terrible on him and a pair of pink sweats he'd gotten as a joke gift was easily the most ornate piece of knitting he'd ever completed. The idea had come to him about a month into Dinah's stay. Acquiring the yarn had been the easy part – actually knitting the thing had taken dozens of nights of setting a vibrating alarm so that he could knit in the wee hours when Theo was dozing, and on a few occasions, bringing the jumper to work and getting himself into even more trouble with Gilly than he already was. In fact, he'd only finished it two days ago, too late to give it to Theo on his actual birthday (which Theo had staunchly insisted on _not_ celebrating). For once, the time spent helping Dinah pack had pushed the gift to the back of his mind

Bill knew it was the most inane request in the world and that he ought to be ashamed of himself, but he briefly brought the jumper to his chest, looked up at the ceiling, and prayed that Theo would love it anyway. _Buck up_ , he scolded himself, _and show a bit of that stiff upper lip your country's so famous for!_

With a sigh, he folded the jumper under one arm and went back down the stairs. "Theo?" he said as he peered around the edge of the living-room entranceway. "I've got a present for you."

"Shit, and it's not even my birthday!" Theo said, with an exaggerated clasp of his hands.

"No, but it was your birthday a month ago." Theo was just lucky that he was gorgeous and that Bill wasn't prone to violence. That kind of horrid, unintentional pun would have earned him a slap from anyone else. "Close your eyes."

"They're closed."

"Good." Bill squinted at Theo to make sure he was telling the truth, walked in, and put the jumper in his lap. Theo's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, the expression of a little boy about to dig in to the bounty under the Christmas tree. Bill even thought he could see Theo's hands trembling to rip open a package. "All right, you can open them now."

Theo's eyes opened; Bill took the opportunity, for the millionth time, to marvel at how thick and black his eyelashes were. "Wow," he said, unfolded the jumper, and held it up. "Bill, it's beautiful. Where'd you get it?"

"I beg your _pardon_ ," Bill snapped, only half-jokingly, as he brought himself up to his full height. "You know perfectly well that I knit." Was Theo taking the piss, or was he serious? He'd seen Bill's collection of jumpers and he had to know that the last time he'd _bought_ a jumper (perish the thought!) was sometime in the late '90s.

"Wait, are you telling me you made this?" Theo brought the jumper closer to his face, almost touching the tip of his long nose. "You knitted this?"

"Yes, you berk. I've been trying to tell you that this entire conversation."

The jumper dropped into his lap, and Theo's mouth dropped open. "How…" His Adam's apple moved as he swallowed. "How long did this take you, Bill?"

"What, do you mean the day I started?" Bill frowned and looked up toward his forehead, an old habit of his when something was lost in the mists. Damn job had his memory as full of holes as a Swiss cheese. "Four months ago, more or less," he said. "It could be a bit longer. Dinah and the boys were already staying here."

"Did Dee know about this?" Theo still looked like he was about to faint, so Bill took his wrist and checked his radial pulse. He didn't seem to notice, but his pulse was strong, so it was probably just his facial expression.

"No," Bill said. "I had to keep it from her, too." Which was actually far easier than keeping it from Theo, given that neither Dinah nor her sons had stayed in their bedroom after the first few days. Theo's chatty, occasionally-amorous bedroom habits proved far more of a roadblock.

"You knitted this sweater in four months and you didn't tell my sister," Theo said softly, "and you didn't tell me, and no one found out."

"Well…Gilly did," Bill admitted, "but that was only because I knitted at work." Theo kept staring. "Are you about to have an episode of heart failure, Theo? I'd better call the ambul - _agh!_ "

Theo wrapped his arms around him and yanked him down into his lap, the jumper crushed between them. Bill's ear was pressed against Theo's chin, and the bristles of his beard were so stiff that they were almost painful. Also, he was pretty sure that Theo had turned him in just the right direction to pull a muscle. "You made me _that_ ," Theo said. "It's fuckin' beautiful, Bill. _You made a sweater_. And it's for _me_."

"Yes," Bilbo said into his neck. "Consider that your birthday, Hanukkah, and Christmas present in one."

"Obviously." Theo patted Bill's back way too hard. "You know what, I thought you really didn't have much of a life outside being a nurse and shit. And reading. You know what?"

"You'd better not follow that up with another insult." Bill pushed away a bit to get some air into his lungs. Theo hugged like the Jaws of Life.

"I've never been so wrong in all my life," Theo said, and brought Bill into another hug. Bill relaxed into it this time, because six months with Theo had taught him many things, not least that trying to leave a hug before it was finished was not a good idea.

"Good," he said. "I'm very glad you like it." If Theo hadn't, Bill might have had his head up on a pike as a warning for the next ingrate who didn't appreciate homemade knitting. He hadn't given himself blisters for – _no_ , he reminded himself, feeling his feathers start to ruffle, _it's a bleeding hypothetical._

"It's the best present ever." Theo released him, thank God, and pulled him into a far more standard side cuddle instead. "You know what? It even makes me feel okay about being forty-two."

"It _is_ the secret to life, the universe, and everything," Bill joked.

"I get it, Arthur Dent," Theo said. He kissed Bill's cheek, then moved to his lips for a much more ardent kiss. Bill allowed himself to be drawn into what was, all past sessions considered, one of the more pleasant kisses he'd shared with Theo. His cock was stirring in his trousers and, in response to the very pleasant sensation he got when he rubbed against Theo's leg, he grabbed Theo's hair and yanked on it to pull him closer.

Theo broke away some time later, Bill wasn't quite sure of how long, to breathe. "You want to fuck in front of the fire?" he asked between pants.

"We don't have a fire."

"Could make one."

"All right," Bill said, "as long as you do it. I don't want to get up."

"Okay." Theo ambushed him with another kiss, then got up, an erection noticeable in the front of his trousers. Bill stole a look at the window and satisfied himself that it was dark enough outside that, should they get up to naked shenanigans, no one would catch a glimpse of anything scarring. Nonetheless, he didn't want to take that risk.

"Theo," he said, "close the curtains while you're at it?"

"Sure." Theo walked over and closed the curtains with one strong yank of his arms, then came back. "You want me to get naked first, or make the fire first? I'm good with either."

"Fire. Wasn't it you who broached the subject of not wanting me to burn my penis off when I cooked?" And brought it up approximately a third of the time Bill cooked thereafter, to the point that it had passed quirky and just became eye-rolling.

"I prefer 'grundle' or 'junk,' Theo said with a smile. "It's nice you want me to protect mine, though. Okay, fire it is." He got on his knees in front of the fireplace and opened the damper, then grabbed the matches off the mantelpiece, along with the stack of newspaper that Bill knew he kept there for the purpose of warming the flue. "This'll be a few minutes. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Consider me warned," Bill said, and rested his chin on his hand, watching through half-closed eyes while Theo warmed the fireplace and built up the fire on the ashes of the last one. He really did look good from the back. It wasn't just his arse, either; he had a very strong back, and the planes of his muscles could be seen right through his shirt. Bill licked his lips and put a hand down his trousers to adjust himself.

"No whackin' off," Theo shot over his shoulder.

Bill took his hand away. "How on _earth_ did you even see that?" he asked. "Have you got eyes in the back of your head?"

"Educated guess, and you just confirmed it, babe," Theo answered. "You know I love watching you touch yourself." His voice went a notch deeper. "When you tease yourself, it's really hot. I just don't want you to come before I can see it."

Bill gulped. "It would be much hotter to hear you say that if you didn't call me 'babe,'" he said, after a minute or so of unsticking his vocal cords. That voice got him every single time, and to very dramatic effect, too. Theo had used it on him once while he was mopping, and the floor had ended up even dirtier when all was said and done.

"What am I supposed to call you, then?" Theo said. "When I say 'Billy,' it just gets your goat." He let out a sudden chuckle. "Oh, fuck, I didn't even mean to make that pun."

"Yes, yes, you're firing on all cylinders today, but I'd prefer you fired on mine," Bill said. "You mentioned sex in front of the fire. I see a fire, so where's the sex?"

Theo shook his head. "Can't believe you," he said as he stripped his shirt off over his head. "You take all the romance out of everything." He kicked off his trousers and pants, then retrieved the jumper from its position on the couch and put it on over his undershirt. "Sexy enough for you?"

Strangely enough, it was. Bill's cock swelled beyond the bounds of any kind of comfort in his trousers at the sight of it, and he got up to take them off. "You're a fine jumper model," he said, and took off his jacket and thermal shirt when he was finished with the trousers. "Just as long as we don't get anything on it."

"That's what condoms are for." Theo looked him up and down extremely lasciviously. The fire was a good backdrop for that kind of expression. If not for the cat standing next to Theo with a disgusted look on his face, this could have been the cover of a pornographic novel.

Bill pointed at Rug. "He looks like he's scolding you for being nude," he said. "You've still got condoms in the junk drawer, right?"

Theo looked down. "Hi, fuzzball. Didn't hear you come in," he said. "Now leave us alone." Rug, of course, ignored him. "Shit, I better go put some catnip in his food. I'll go get the condoms while I'm there. If you want to, I don't know, spread yourself out or something, I'm down with that." He wiggled an eyebrow and winked.

Bill watched Theo's bare arse as long as it was in view, then took off his Y-fronts and tried his best to comply with Theo's requet on the couch. He was probably going to embarrass himself with any attempt at a truly lascivious pose, so in lieu of trying to imitate Rose from _Titanic_ (although the thought did cross his mind, if he were to be honest with himself), he lay on his belly and propped his chin up on his hands, legs spread. Rug took off, most likely as disgusted at the sight as Bill was when he caught Rug licking certain parts.

Theo returned in a few minutes, a strip of condoms dangling from one hand and a tube of lube in the other. "Oh, _fuck_ ," he said immediately upon seeing Bill. It was impossible to see clearly at that distance and in the dim light, but Bill fancied he could see Theo's pupils dilate. "I can see your balls."

"Yes, they're unavoidable." Bill heaved himself into a sit and drew his knees as far apart and up as he could. "Is this a better view?" The skin on his bollocks immediately crinkled, although the air in the room wasn't terribly cold - _dartos muscle_ , the thought crossed his mind automatically, and he ignored it as usual.

Theo growled and jumped onto the couch in lieu of an immediate answer, and shoved his face into Bill's crotch. "Way better," he said, once his face was close enough to Bill's sac that Bill could feel the heat of his breath. "I want to lick 'em."

Bill whimpered and nodded vigorously. "Yes," he said. His cock was so hard that he could see the head sticking nearly straight up. Theo grinned at him and growled again, and then there was a hot tongue wiggling as far between his bollocks as it could go without hurting him. Bill tipped his head back and let out a moan, and grabbed Theo's hair again to make him stay there until the end of time.

Theo kept alternately licking and sucking on his bollocks, each time just hard enough to skirt the edge of pain, but not quite there. Bill put three fingers in his mouth and bit down to stifle his more humiliating whines, especially those he made when Theo's nose bumped into the base of his cock. Theo's grunts and gasps made it clear that he was enjoying himself, too, even if Bill couldn't see past the top of his head to confirm.

"H-how'd you learn to do this?" he haltingly asked after a particularly long, laving suck that brought him _oh_ , so close to coming. "Have you - _fuck_ …" Theo rubbed his nose between the base of Bill's prick and the top of his balls. "…done this to other people?"

"Oh, yeah." Theo laid a loud, wet kiss on the area. "Maybe ten years ago, last time I was in London. There was this guy, little younger than me, and we _hated_ each other. But God, he was good in bed."

"Has he got a name?"

"Drake Ignatius Smaug." Theo pronounced the words as if they were scientific name of some huge venomous insect, something to be both revered and reviled. "Went by Ignatius, last I heard of him. What a fucking asshole." He brought two fingers back and stroked Bill's hole with his fingertips, which made a very pleasant distraction from what he was saying. "Pretentious as hell. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Good in bed," Bill breathlessly reminded him.

"That's us academics for you." Theo looked up at him with those beautiful, lustful eyes. His lips were wet with saliva and a bit swollen. "Do you want me to blow you?"

It was definitely a tempting offer, but Bill had something else in mind, now that he'd had his brain whetted with tales of one of Theo's sexploits. "I want to fuck you," he said, "and hear about this Smaug while I'm in you." He rather regretted the loss of Theo's tongue, but his arse was sure to be better.

"Sounds like a deal." Theo licked his lips. "Okay if I kiss you first?"

"You don't have to ask," Bill said.

"Yeah, only you saw where my mouth's been."

Oh. Yes, that was definitely a consideration. Whatever would his coworkers say if they knew about his medical negligence (apart from 'you go, Bill')? "I showered this morning," he said after a few seconds of weighing the pros and cons in his head. The dirtiness of what Theo wanted to do won out, of course, even though it had started out as a con. "Kiss away."

Theo put his arms around him and kissed him deeply enough to make Bill's head spin with pleasure. "Fuck me," he said, "and do it _hard_."

Bill groaned. "Your wish is my command," he said. "Do you want fingers?" Theo held up two. "Mmm, so three of mine." He cast around and picked up the lube and condoms from the floor, where they looked to have fallen during Theo's couch dive, then squirted a good amount of lube onto his fingers and leaned forward to seal his mouth against Theo's.

Theo purred satisfyingly into the kiss, a noise that turned into an even more satisfying cry when Bill reached between his legs and rubbed his lubed forefinger in a circle around the edge of Theo's hole. Bill moaned in response and pressed his cock against Theo's strong, hard thigh, which tensed against him every time he thrust his hips. He slid his finger in all the way and began to rub it in a circle against the hot walls, good and slow.

" _Bill!_ " Theo shouted, loud enough to make his ears ring. Bill stilled his finger – was that a good shout or a bad one? "No, you bastard, don't stop, for fuck's sake." All right, then, there was his answer. Bill smiled into the kiss he pressed to Theo's neck and put in a second finger, this time crooking the both of them upwards and rubbing them back and forth. Theo's body jerked, and he squeezed hard around Bill's fingers.

"That's _lovely_ ," Bill said. "Oh, God, Theo." If his voice cracked any harder, it would sound downright pubescent. He wiggled his fingers and gloried in the noises that Theo made, soft moans and grunts that grew louder and more frenzied the more he moved his fingers.

Theo grabbed his forearm and squeezed it hard, and Bill obligingly stopped the movement of his hand. "Fuck me now," he said. "That's an order!" His deep voice was shaky with desperation, and his fingers dug into Bill's forearm.

"D-don't you want three fingers?" Now he was tripping over his words again, fantastic. At least Theo had never teased him about the things he said and did when he was aroused, because there was no way he would be able to stop.

Theo shook his head so vigorously that a few coarse strands of his hair hit Bill in the face. He took a fast breath in, and fancied that they smelled like Theo's hormones. "No. I want to be fuckin' tight around you. You can stretch me with your cock."

The cock in question jumped in anticipation. Bill wrapped his fist around the base, squeezing so he wouldn't embarrass himself before he could get a condom on. "Just a minute," he said, and tore open a condom wrapper as fast as he could with his fingers trembling. Theo could make the dirtiest, coarsest things sound like invocations of love, and the things he could do with his mouth…he needed to return the favor. "Lie still and I'll put your condom on," he said.

Theo let out a shuddering breath and obeyed. It was too bad the jumper hid the inevitable goosebumps on his chest, and all but the barest suggestion of his hard, pointed brown nipples. Bill allowed himself the distraction of kissing one over the jumper and worrying his lips against the wool while Theo whined, then went back to his original task of opening up a condom and sliding it down the length of Theo's erection with his mouth.

Now Theo's hands were in Bill's hair, which he considered turnabout, or perhaps it was fair play, or whatever phrase meant that he didn't mind that Theo's massive upper body strength had nearly yanked the curls out of his head on the first tug. He smiled around the hot thickness of Theo's cock and used his tongue to stroke the shaft past the descending condom edge. The pull he got in response, although mitigated by Theo's near-scream, almost certainly drew blood.

He gave one last swallow when his lips reached the base of Theo's cock and then pulled back, wiping his mouth. "Ready?" he asked.

Theo scowled and spread his legs as wide as he could. Even his scowl couldn't hide the look of want underneath. "What'd I say, Bill?"

Bill shook his head and tsked. "You said to fuck you, but you needn't be rude about it!" He put on a condom and took some lube anyway, then stroked it up and down the length of his cock. Neertheless, to punish Theo for his rudeness, he took his sweet time about it. He let his palm rub over his still-hard bollocks and closed his eyes with a pleasured squeak.

" _Bill!_ "

"Oh, all right." Bill opened his eyes and watched Theo wiggle in place for a few seconds. His hole was still open from Bill's fingers, and seeing that made the flush on Bill's body go deeper and hotter. "Yes, I'll fuck you," he said, and put a condom on much more quickly than he'held Theo's thighs apart as much as he could with his palms while he slid inside him all the way with a long, smooth, unbearably wonderful stroke.

He was even hotter than he'd been around Bill's fingers – such soft flesh, softer than any part of such a tough person had any right to be, slickness palpable even through the condom. Bill let his head fall forward and rested his forehead on Theo's collarbone, where he could hear his heavy breaths rumbling. "Bill," Theo said, "Bill, this…this…" The words petered off in a soft noise, and his cock moved between their bellies.

"Tell me…" Bill thrust his hips slowly backwards and then forwards again. "Tell me about this Smaug."

"Ten years ago. I said so." Theo clutched him close, hands around Bill's shoulders and his legs wrapped around his hips. The dense hair on his calves scratched at Bill's back and made him shiver. What was it about a man with body hair that turned him on so much? "I was, _nngh_ , in London for a history contest. Before I g-got tenure -!" He gasped loudly. Bill pulled back to watch his mouth open and his eyes squeeze shut. "That feels so good."

He was so warm, and his hole flexed around Bill's prick with every movement. It felt indescribable for him, too. "What was he like?" Bill asked, and then licked Theo's collarbone. These short sentences were about all he could do right now. "Sss-sexy?" He brought a hand between them and stroked Theo's cock.

" _Mouthy_ ," Theo bit out. "Fuck! Like you. Fuckin' asshole. We disagreed on _don't stop_!" he interrupted himself. "Bill, quit pullin' out." He grabbed Bill's arse and pulled him right back in, and Bill couldn't help a cry as his eyes rolled up in his head. Right, then, fuck his current plan. Rough and hard it was.

"You f-fought," he panted, and started to thrust again, "during sex, I assume?"

"About everything. And then we got drunk." Theo grunted out that last word and pressed his cock up against the swell of Bill's belly. Bill arched his torso away a little and brought his hand back to help. "Nnn _god_! He asked me to. To marry him!" His fist squeezed tighter around his cock and his knuckles bumped into Bill's own. "Fuckin' ginger bastard."

Oh, he had a soft spot for redheads, when it wasn't taken up by a certain black-haired bastard. Bill felt close to bursting inside Theo. "But you didn't," he said, punctuating each word with a forward movement of his hips and a clench of his arse. "You're with me."

"Yeah." Theo tightened the grip of his hands around his back and clung hard, then rubbed his prick on Bill's belly again. "Love you, Bill." His chest hitched and shuddered with a deeply-drawn breath, which made Bill pull back – not without difficulty – and look at him again. His face was beginning to screw up. "Gonna come!"

"Then come." Bill pushed himself up for a better angle, much as it hurt his arms to do it. There was little better in the world than Theo's orgasm face.

"Oh _god_!" Sure enough, Theo's expression completely came apart at the seams as he lost control. His entire body clenched up against Bill's and he thrust his chin up so hard, jaw clenched, that the tendons in his neck instantly became visible. "Bill," he moaned, and his embrace was suddenly as tight as a stranglehold.

A few moments of watching that beautiful sight play out were all that it took to bring Bill off, too. The force of the orgasm slammed his eyes shut and pitched him forward into Theo's arms, and a wave of goosebumps rose and fell over his entire body. He kissed the center of Theo's chest and settled in, still buried deep inside him.

Theo began to hum something low a few minutes later, and the vibrations traveled to Bill's chest to warm him from the inside out. "That was awesome, Bill," he said, and then his stomach growled. "Ah, shit, I'm starving."

Bill smiled. "Does that mean I should pull out and order something?"

"Yeah." Theo kissed his temple. "Chinese food? I could eat like ten pints of everything."

Bill braced his hands on the couch to either side of Theo and pulled out of him as slowly and gently as he could. It still provoked a brief whine from Theo, and he shivered when his prick came into contact with the comparatively cold air. "Fried rice?" He peeled the condom off his cock and held it between his thumb and forefinger.

"Like I said, everything." Theo put out his hand. "Gimme that. I'll get rid of it with mine." He raised a bushy eyebrow. "Don't give me that look, Bill, I've already had it in me."

"I suppose it's a fair price to keep you from ruining your new jumper," Bill sighed, and got up, inspecting the jumper from his new angle. It was a bit crumpled, to be sure, but he couldn't see any suspicious stains on it. He sighed with relief. Cleaning it would have been a job and a half, equal to the first blocking it had gotten. "Right, I've got to use the loo, and then I'll call the Happy Dumpling."

"I'll go pee upstairs," Theo said. "And then I'll be waiting with bells on. Is that right? Bells on?"

"Something along those lines. If you want to eat in front of the telly, it's all right with me."

"Huh." Theo smiled. "Sounds good. I think it's supposed to snow, anyway. Perfect night for it."

"Perfect indeed," Bill said. He leaned down and kissed Theo briefly, shivering when the tip of Theo's tongue flicked at his lips. "Oh, behave, Theo!"

Theo smiled. "Couldn't resist." He kissed Bill with his mouth closed this time, and then patted him on the arse. "Okay, go pee."

Bill smiled and went to the downstairs loo to do just that. When he was finished washing his hands, he took a moment to look at himself in the mirror. As he might have expected, his hair was a mess, and his cheeks were still bright red from exertion. Had he not known that the brightness of his eyes was from sex and not a fever, he would have recommended that he take himself to hospital forthwith.

Theo was back on the couch, flushed in much the same way, when Bill got back to the living room. "Brought your phone," he said, holding it up. "Get over here and cuddle me."

"Thanks, and sure." Bill sat down and slid into the curve of Theo's waiting arm. He was so warm. "What sort of food do you want? I did ask about fried rice, right?"

"Hmm." Theo rested his cheek on the top of Bill's head. His hair fell between them, smelling of sweat and sex hormones. "I want some beef fried rice, and egg rolls. But not the ones with just vegetables in them, okay? I want some chicken in them. And…potstickers, maybe? Will you share potstickers with me, or will I end up eating 'em all myself?"

"If they're shrimp potstickers, yes," Bill said. Six months with him and Theo's palate was still approximately as varied as the color range on a black-and-white printer. "Tofu with broccoli and crab rangoon for me, and I'm stealing some of your food."

Theo handed the phone over. "Okay. Make the order."

They were, Bilbo reflected as he punched a button, probably not alone in having the local Chinese restaurant on speed-dial, but that didn't make him feel like any less of an unhealthy bastard as he placed the order for what even the Coneheads would probably call "mass quantities of food." Ah, well, if he ended up bloated for his last pre-holiday shift at work, he could justify it with the fact that Jewish people usually had Chinese food on Christmas, but he and Theo were going to be out of town on that day.

"Right," he said after hanging up, and put the phone down on the end table. "The food should be here in about half an hour. Want to watch something until then?"

"Yeah." With a grunt, Theo shifted them over in the direction of the TV, which was resting on a crude wooden table – courtesy of one of Theo's friends at the Village – just off to the side of the fireplace. "I put the remote between the cushions last time I used it, right?"

"I think so," Bill said. "Just put it on the end table like a normal person, Theo." He twirled a strand of Theo's hair between two fingers.

"But then I'd be a normal person and you wouldn't love me. Aha!" Theo dug the remote out from between the couch cushions and turned the television on, then settled back against Bill and began to page through the DVR selections at half-light speed. "Oh, hey, DVR got American Dad. You okay with that?"

"Could be worse," Bill said. Theo's passion for TBS was rivaled only for his passions for several other blush-worthy things. He wiggled more securely against Theo and settled into him as the theme song began.

About an episode and a half later, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it," Theo said. "My wallet's closer." He stood up, and Bill was very sharply reminded that he'd taken everything off except his jumper. "Don't bother tellin' me you're gonna pay me back. You don't need to."

"Pay me back by putting some trousers on, for God's sake," Bill said. "You'll traumatize the delivery person."

"Huh? Oh, fuck, thanks." Theo picked his discarded boxers off the floor and slid them up over his hips, then dug in his trouser pockets for his wallet. "Be right back. They've gotta be getting impatient out there."

Bill's stomach rumbled painfully, and he pressed his fist under his breastbone to quiet it. Goodness gracious, it looked like for maybe the first time ever, he'd forgotten to eat. Moving Dinah's things had taken up most of the lunch hour. "Get some forks while you're up?" he said as Theo moved towards the front door. Chopsticks would just make him spill hot food down his naked front.

"Yeah, sure," Theo said, and yanked the door open. "Hey. Are you the delivery person?"

"Yeah, and I think I'm dreaming," said a voice that sounded like it belonged to…a middle-aged woman, maybe? Oh, damnation, Theo was standing in front of someone's mum, one thin, _perforated_ layer of fabric away from an indecent exposure citation. Fuck resting, it looked like Bill had to do some damage control.

He heaved himself off the couch with great difficulty, struggled into the yoga trousers that Theo had inherited from Dinah when she stopped taking yoga, and pulled on his shirt while hopping to the door. "Sorry if he's traumatized you," he said as he pulled the fabric down over his head. His hair was probably irreparably rumpled by now.

"No way is that traumatic," said the delivery woman. She was East Asian, maybe about forty, with wavy hair pulled back and a red baseball cap that had the words 'Happy Dumpling' embroidered on it. "My name's Carrie, and your husband is hot."

"Hi, Carrie," said Theo. "We're Bill and Theo, and we're re-enacting Hungry Hungry Hippos. We're almost to the secret cannibalism level. You can't show your kids that one."

"My kids aren't even old enough to get on the Internet without me," said Carrie with a laugh. "Okay, here's what you owe." She handed Theo a receipt, and handed Bill two wonderful-smelling paper bags with grease showing through. They were heavy enough that he had to heft them in his arms.

Theo looked at the receipt and breathed in sharply through his teeth. "Yikes."

"Went a little overboard?" Carrie said, sympathy in her voice.

"More like I'm not sure if I got enough food to feed this guy." Theo inclined his head towards Bill. "He runs around a hospital all day and then he eats all night." He snorted and took some money out of his wallet. "All I got is a hundred. Keep the change?"

"Thanks a lot." Carrie looked at the money, whistled, and put it in her pocket. "Sure I can't give you my number? You're totally my type. Tall, dark, and handsome, and loaded."

"Taken, sorry," Theo said. "But if I liked women, I'd say yes. Interested in women and single, I mean. You seem nice."

"I'm just kidding ya," Carrie said. "I have a husband. Enjoy the rest of your night."

"You, too," said Theo, and closed the door behind her.

"Really, a hundred?" Bill asked as he lugged the bags of food to the couch. The television was still paused in the middle of an episode, and Stan Smith's face was caught mid-expression. "She's going to think you're in the Mafia."

"Those delivery people are paid shit," Theo said. "Be right back." He ducked into the kitchen, and Bill heard the clatter of silverware before he reappeared with two forks sticking out of his fist. "Forrest got a job as a delivery kid in high school. It paid shit back then, too. No one ever tipped him, either."

Bill tore open a carton and breathed in the heavenly scent of crab rangoon. "You know damn well you had twenties, though," he pointed out. "What if she figured that out?" He picked up a crab dumpling with a fork and bit into it. "Mmm!"

"How long has it been since we had Chinese food?" Theo said as he picked up another carton and expertly poked a pair of chopsticks inside. "Few months?" he continued through a mouth so full that noodles were dripping out from between his lips (Bill had caved and, as Theo mouthed a plea at him, added lo mein to their order). Ugh, the things he put up with for love, and arse.

"About that," Bill said. He took another bite of crab rangoon. "You mean you've had less opportunity to patronize Chinese restaurants when I cook things that won't destroy your liver."

Theo pointed a chopstick at him. "No medical speak." He crossed his legs and shifted closer to the back of the couch, then grabbed the remote. "Okay if I put the TV back on?"

"Suit yourself," Bill said.

"Thanks, Billy." Theo gave him a one-armed hug, then turned the show back on and began to eat in earnest.

It made for a companionable meal, them stealing bits of food from each other's cartons and watching Roger the Alien make trouble for the Smith family. Bill could have very well fallen asleep then and there, if it weren't for Rug coming in and beginning to bat at the lower branches of the Christmas tree. "Hey!" Bill shouted, putting his shrimp dumpling down on top of the nearest carton. "He's going to get sick from that, Theo."

"Rug, move your furry ass." Theo got up and pulled the cat away from the tree, earning himself a scratch and an angry meow in the process. "Little bastard," he grumbled as he put Rug down on the couch between them. "Gotta keep him distracted." He dug into the carton of lo mein and picked up a piece of beef, which he put down on the couch for Rug.

"Theo," Bill said, "you remember what happened last time you fed him people food." Rug didn't seem to mind the sweet-spicy taste of the sauce, since he was gobbling the beef up in record time. _Bill_ minded, though, since it was likely his face that Rug was going to sleep on later. "Flatulence? Ringing a bell?"

Rug looked up at him as if to say that he was so onto him, spread his front paws across Bill's thigh, and farted. Theo gave a yelp of laughter. "He knows what you're talking about, Bill," he said, and pointed a chopstick at Rug. "Bad boy, Rug. You wanna play Dueling Banjos?"

"What on Earth is that?" Bill asked. Was it possible that Theo's supply of idiosyncratic idioms hadn't yet exhausted itself?

"Gimme a second," Theo said, and after a moment of staring Rug down, echoed his fart with a grimace.

"Theo!" Bill made a face and waved at the air in front of him. "You're a child!"

"What?" Theo said. "Rug sharted it."

"You mean he start – oh, no, you didn't." Bill sighed. "Just don't finish it, or I'll be forced to shove a cork where no cork should be." He didn't want to have to deal with a Dutch oven tonight, and if Theo's mood was this silly, it was likely that his head would be shoved inside.

Theo sighed and settled back against the couch. "Bill," he said, "do you think they'll be all right without us?"

Bill turned to him. "Who? Your family?"

"Yeah. Phil and Caleb…you saw them. They've lost their spark." Theo stretched his legs out in front of him. "It's scary."

"I seem to remember them moping around here until Halloween," Bill said. Theo was right; his nephews weren't their usual selves, understandable as it was. The boys' moodiness had gotten to the point that their mother and uncle had relaxed their grounding for Halloween, and seeing Theo in a Chewbacca costume (otherwise known as a pair of furry brown shorts and his own plentiful body hair) had finally put smiles on their faces.

"Sounds right." Theo ran his fingers through Bill's hair, and he could smell the grease on his hand. He was going to have to wash his hair later, even though he'd already showered that day. "I'm scared they'll regress while we're gone and turn into hermits."

"Dinah won't let that happen," Bill told him. "She certainly isn't about to regress, and they've gotten better since Halloween, haven't they? I caught them trying to cook a soufflé with their leftover candy a few weeks ago."

Theo shook his head with a slow smile. "I'm surprised they still had leftover candy," he said. "Anyway, if you really think they're better, I guess all I have to worry about is Danny chopping down your Christmas tree while he's feeding Rug."

"Why would he do that?" Bill asked.

"Because it's really not Jewish," Theo said. "I mean super not Jewish. The trayfiest trayf ever."

"Danny's not Orthodox, though, is he?" As far as Bill knew, the closest person to Orthodox in their group of Hillel-goers was Omer, and he wasn't a fanatic about it.

"No, he wouldn't really do it. I was just trying to get your goat." Theo kissed his hair. "Okay, I'm really full. Gotta take my pants off and lie down."

"You're wearing boxers," Bill said. "I don't think they cut into your stomach."

"So what? I'll take them off and lie down anyway." Theo scratched his belly. "You all done packing?"

"For the most part. You?" Bill snagged the last dumpling and shoved the entire thing in his mouth before Theo could decide that he was entitled to half. "All right, I think I've officially eaten my weight in Chinese food," he said after he'd swallowed.

"Me, too," said Theo. "Yeah, I'm pretty much done packing. Just need you to check it over and make sure I have everything ready for that England winter you keep warning me about." He scraped the last bit of fried rice out of its carton with his chopsticks and ate it. "I better do it tonight or I'll forget."

"Good idea," Bill said. "Tell you what, why don't we do that now? I'll go put the leftovers away and then we can go through our suitcases and get it over with." There were about two cartons of food left, combined, and they would inevitably turn into tomorrow's breakfast. "Sorry I haven't brought it up before. I've just been exhausted this week."

"Yeah, you're going to work again tomorrow, right?" Theo pulled a sympathetic face. "Jeez. At least academia lets you have a winter break."

"Yes, and Monday as well." Bill sighed. His self-preservation instinct had suggested that antagonizing his colleagues by using his vacation time at the busiest time of year was not necessarily a good idea, not when he was still on informal probation. Since that was sound subconscious advice, he'd agreed to take on extra shifts the week previous. The upshot of it was that his workweek had ended up at well over eighty hours, and one of the beds in the on-call room was permanently imprinted in the shape of his body.

"Ah, yikes." Theo kissed his shoulder. "Okay, meet you upstairs. We might as well make the most of…um…what is it, twelve hours before you have to go back to the hospital?"

"About that." Bill began to gather the cartons together, and dumped the remains of the lo mein into the crab rangoon container. "I'll meet you upstairs, then."

"Sure. See you." Theo gave his head a final kiss and went off.

Bill took a few minutes to put the cartons in the refrigerator - _neatly_ , as opposed to the leftovers that Theo put away – and flip off the kitchen lights, then went up to their bedroom. Theo was crouched over his suitcase, which had been sitting open and clogging the floor space in their room for the past few days. "Hey," he said, looking up. "Ready?"

"Yes." Bill glanced at his own neat piles of clothing, which were stacked by the desk because he was a considerate human being. "All right, what have you got?" He sat down cross-legged by Theo's suitcase.

"Okay, let's do this." Theo slapped his thighs. "You said things aren't going to be formal over there, so I didn't pack any suits or anything." He lifted a pile of underwear out and pointed inside. "Socks, pajamas because English people are prudes…"

"We are _not_."

"Sure, Your Majesty." Theo smiled. "Um, a sweatshirt, couple of sweaters, some pants. They have a washing machine where we're staying, right?"

"They should, and if they don't, we can ask to us it," said Bill. "I'm concerned about your packing, though. You need a lot more jumpers than that. It's going to be cold and rainy and really disgusting over there."

Theo snorted. "You packed a million sweaters. I'm not packing that many." He pointed to Bill's to-be-packed piles. "Seriously, look at that. It's like you sheared a whole flock of sheep."

"Then don't say I didn't warn you when you're cold," Bill said. "I'm not sharing those jumpers with you, you know. I made them and I'm not about to let you stretch them out with your freakish shoulders." He hated having to hand-wash sweaters to get them back to their original shape. They soaked up water to an alarming degree, and his forearms were always sore for hours after lifting them up.

"I have half a mind to make you learn smithing," Theo said with a sniff that seemed a parody of being affronted. "Then we'll see how freaky your shoulders get." He shrugged. "Fine, more sweaters. Anything else?"

"Let me see." Bill moved closer and dug through the contents of the suitcase. Socks, lots of jeans, enough books to start a traveling library, nothing else truly notable. "No, you look all right. Might want to take some of those books in your carry-on."

"And miss out on pissing off the TSA guys? Where's the fun in that?" Theo's tone was jovial, but his eyes were pensive and his brows looked permanently knit together.

"Theo, what's wrong?" Bill asked. "Please tell me. I hate to see you upset."

"It's nothing," Theo said with a sigh, and Bill knew better than to bother him. He would undoubtedly get his head bitten off if he did, since he suspected there was more to this mood than just Theo being a grouch.

"Right," he said, and squeezed Theo's hand. "I'll leave it alone, shall I? Let's read in bed or something."

"Okay," said Theo. The wrinkle between his eyebrows relaxed only marginally, though, a deeply-carved slash in his stony face.

That expression was still there when the two of them went to bed. It was there in the middle of the night when Bill got up for the graveyard shift, it intermittently dominated his face for the rest of the weekend, and it was at its strongest several days later at Logan International Airport, when they were standing in a queue to the security scan that was full of loud tourists with equally loud suitcases. There was something terribly wrong, and he was going to find out what sort of shite was going on in Theo's head if his mood could linger for eighty-four straight hours.

"All right, Theo." Bill dropped his suitcase on the floor and pulled Theo towards him with the hand that wasn't holding a carry-on backpack. "What the _bleeding_ hell is wrong with you?"

"Huh?" Theo tilted his head a little. "Nothing's wrong."

"You've got that same expression on your face like you found human remains," Bill insisted. He was not fucking letting this go until he got some answers. "What is it, Theo? Do you not want to go on this trip? Because I would have appreciated some bloody honesty."

Theo's lips thinned, and suddenly, there was ice in his eyes. "It doesn't have anything to do with you, Bill. It's not this trip. It's Smaug."

"Smaug, your ex-lover?" The line was beginning to move. Bill picked up his suitcase and obligingly moved with it. "That was years ago."

"And I didn't tell you the whole story." Theo adjusted the position of his duffel bag over his shoulder. "I told you he proposed, yeah? We were drunk. I think I knew it wasn't gonna happen, but I got scared, so I ran off after he went to sleep. Didn't even leave a note."

This explanation made no more sense than the silence had. Damn Theo and his enigmatic speech. "Okay, so you were young and stupid," Bill said slowly. "I'm sure he was, too. You've both surely grown up by now. Even if you see each other, why would he hold a -"

"Bill. It's _worse_." Theo touched his shoulder. "He…he knows about T.D."

"Knows about…" And then the pieces of realization slammed together, making his head reel. "Oh my God."

"Yeah, 'oh, my God'," Theo said, and let go of Bill's shoulder. Bill rubbed at it; he hadn't even realized that Theo was clutching it so hard. "I got a letter from him a few years ago, Bill. He figured it out himself and he's still mad."

"How do you know?"

"I think some threats to leak everything to the media came into play." Theo's expression morphed into a grimace. "This guy isn't…he's not just an old flame. He's _dangerous_." The line shuffled forward a few more steps. "He's a professor, Bill. In _Oxford_. You see why I'm scared out of my freakin' mind?"

"Yes," Bill said simply, "I see," and Theo fell stonily silent again while they went through the abominably drawn-out security measures necessary to travel. He gave only his name when the security officer called them forward, and didn't even comment on the UV light that the officer used to verify their boarding passes. Personally, Bill thought the way the paper glowed was fairly cool, which was a sure sign that Theo should have thought so, too.

"Theo," he ventured when they reached their gate – after walking past an array of tempting, wonderful-smelling restaurants with bright awnings that he _did not_ stop at, thank you very much – "I think you might be worrying about this a bit too much."

Theo's thumbs paused in whatever game he was playing on his phone. "You think so?"

"Yes." Bill cautiously touched his cheek. "On the off chance that you ever run into him, I'll protect you. Muck him up with a huge saline enema or something."

Theo's mouth twitched. Slowly, so slowly that it might have been a fissure opening into the side of a stubborn cliff face, he smiled. "I bet you will," he said. He was silent for a few more minutes, then said, "I think I'll do some writing."

Bill nodded. "Then I'll read," he said, and with a laptop and a copy of _Go the Fuck to Sleep_ that some inconsiderate horse's arse had left in the nurse's lounge, he and Theo settled in to wait for their flight.

 **Notes:**

Among the questions I posed in writing this chapter was "do classy English hotels have washing machines?" They do.

And wow, no glossary for once. :D Yes, I'm also relieved.


	12. Jealousy is Cruel as the Grave

"Theo," Bill said, "we're getting close to Oxford now."

"Ah, fuck." Theo lifted his heavy head out of a muzzy sleep and dug his thumbs into his eyes, trying to rub the crud away and force them to focus. The Sandman had been liberal with his pinches, it felt like. "Did I miss the English countryside?"

"It's just wet and foggy, dear," said Bill, a dry emphasis on the last word. Theo leaned forward in his seat and pressed his cheek up against the train window to make sure, and yes, he could see jack diddly outside. As they moved, occasionally a bare tree branch or the outline of a building pressed into visibility through the weakly-lit wet whirls. Otherwise, it was practically a gray soup.

"Not much to see, I guess." Theo shrugged and moved back to rest his head against the back of the seat. "How long have I been out?"

"Mm," Bill said, and looked at his watch. "You fell asleep as soon as we took our seats, so I'm counting it as the whole time. Bit under an hour."

"I got jet lag," Theo said through a yawn, which turned the statement into a vague mumble in Bill's direction. His mouth was full of marbles and they were all clacking against his teeth, had to be, because his tongue wasn't ever this fat and clumsy in his mouth.

Bill shook his head. "Too _right_ you have jet lag," he said in an acerbic tone. "Do you even remember what you said to the customs official at Heathrow?"

"Bill, I don't remember five minutes ago," Theo said. What kind of trick question was this? Bill knew he'd been asleep on his feet ever since he got dragged off the plane by one arm. For a guy who didn't work out or smith, Bill was strong. "I'm assuming it's embarrassing."

"He flagged your suitcase for some reason and he found your porn, and I had to cover for you," Bill said, his voice indicating that not only was this embarrassing, but that he was offended to the center of his fusty, contrary British bones. " _I_ had to make up an excuse."

Oh. Okay, that was bad, _really_ bad, more bad than Superbad. "Did I get in trouble with the government?" Theo leaned in close to whisper to Bill, just in case anyone around them had supercharged hearing. "I do try to keep my real name out of the crime beat, just in case anyone…you know."

"Makes a connection?" Bill said, and shook his head when Theo nodded. "No, I told him you have chronic pain and are allergic to opiates. He believed it, but God, my integrity." He shivered in clear revulsion. "That's the last time I use situations from medical shows to make excuses for you, Theo, I swear."

"No, I mean which porn?" Theo asked. The videos were okay, but that smutty graphic novel proof was not something he would have access to as a private citizen, or as someone who was trying to prove he _wasn't_ T.D. Darrens. His pen name was right on the front cover. Fuck.

"Everything. They found everything, but I was able to lie about that, too." Bill cocked his head at Theo. "Your story from now on, by the way, is that you know the editor and you're giving some input into the work. They were more concerned about the videos, although I fail to see how that's any less embarrassing. It was _The Lion, the Bitch, and the Bear-Robe_ , Theo! And they took us to a fucking back room and looked through _all of it_ and I swear that official was laughing."

"So just making sure, they have no idea." He needed to know. His heart was pounding so hard that his vision was going _wham, wham, wham_ , splaying out all wavery with every beat. While he vaguely remembered sitting down on a chair and watching someone touch his suitcase, they couldn't have outed him. He'd remember if they did.

"Yes, they have no idea. They just know you're an academic. You're safe." Bill glared at him. "And they think we're both perverts, too, thanks very much. This wouldn't have happened if you'd kept the DVDs in a case or something, or not brought them at all."

"Jesus fuckin' Lipschitz, don't scare me like that," he said through another yawn. Now that his heart rate was back down from hospitalization levels, he was suddenly tired again. "But you said I said something. Did I say it was for you?"

"No, you gave him lip," Bill said. "I gave him that bullshite excuse about chronic pain and then _you_ , Theodor Derensky, you got up and said –" he raised his eyebrows and put on a terrible Boston accent – "'Chronic pain? I _am_ a chronic pain!'" He shook his head hard. "I've got half a mind to leave you at the station. I made them let you sit down so you wouldn't have to deal with the mindfuckery and you still pulled that on me."

"Wow," said Theo. "I swear to all that's holy, that was the lack of sleep talking. I don't act like that much of an asshole on purpose. Not with you." He leaned on Bill's shoulder. "So, worst day ever?"

"Close to it, but we pulled through," Bill said, and paused. "And thank God that British Airways didn't lose our luggage," he added. "I've got a copy of a complaint letter in a folder somewhere about a certain toy that they _mysteriously_ lost when I moved." He clucked his tongue. "Buggers."

Theo smiled. "I think I got you enough toys to make up for it," he said. "Who's picking us up?"

"According to my cousin," Bill said as he took out his phone, "it's a cousin who isn't her, only she's not sure which because I've got about half a million of them. And as to the toy –" he began, but was interrupted.

" _Oxford station_ ," said a voice over the loudspeaker, so ridiculously proper that Bill probably would class the accent as 'posh' (there was a lot Theo had to learn about English culture, for sure). " _Now arriving at Oxford station._ "

"This is our stop," Bill said, pulling his backpack from under the seat as the train began to slow down. "Are you ready to be nice to my family?"

"I'm always nice," Theo said, and stuck his nose as high into the air as he could without worsening the airplane-induced crick in his neck. "Except for when Morningwood's around." For days after the funeral, Galil hadn't talked of anything but Luukas this, Luukas that, and Luukas the other thing. Looked like he was taking after Team Gay Uncle, if the way he talked about how shiny that kid's hair was could serve as any indication. Gad and Sima would kill him if he tried to pin an orientation on their kid this early, though, and the high possibility of Sima braining him in the nads with her pregnant belly was too much of a risk for him.

"Mm-hm." Lips tight, eyebrows raised, Bill put his backpack on and hoisted his suitcase out from the space in front of their seats with a grunt. "Just keep a few rules in mind and you won't have any problems. Not everyone is used to your humor."

"So they're stuffed shirts," Theo guessed. He took his (much larger, much heavier, thanks very much) suitcase out and hauled it into his lap for easier lifting. "You, with a much bigger stick up their asses?"

The train came to a halt, and Bill stood up, then slapped Theo's shoulder. "Just my father's side, but they're married into my mother's side, so be _careful_."

"Jesus." Theo picked up his suitcase and stood up, too, as Bill went into the aisle ahead of him. "Do I need to play the banjo theme from Deliverance or what?"

"Fuck off, you're at least as inbred as I am," Bill said. The two of them began to move down between the rows of seats. "As I said, just follow a few rules and we'll have no problems."

Theo rolled his eyes heavenward, just like Mama used to do when Papa said something too ridiculous to be borne by humans alone. "Fine, tell me and we'll see if I can handle them without losing my mind."

"It's mostly just one. Oh, damn." Bill pulled the handle of his suitcase free from where it was stuck on someone's armrest. "No swearing around the kids, if at all possible. A few of my cousins have reproduced, and I've never met Primrose and Drogo's son."

And he'd thought hearing that Bill's dad spent most of his life being called 'Bungo' was weird. "Sorry, Primrose and _who_ now?" Theo said. He yanked his luggage through the door and stepped out onto the station platform.

"Drogo," Bill said. He set his suitcase down and stretched his arms out. "His given name is Andrew, so he began life as Drew and it was corrupted to Drogo before he turned ten. Oh, bollocks, I'm sore." He rubbed his upper arms with his palms. "Now to look around and find my –"

" _Bill!_ " someone shouted. No, howled. "Bill, you're here!"

Bill whipped around, and Theo followed. There was a guy sprinting towards them, skinny but with the same messy mop of brown curls that Bill had. "Bill, you old bastard," he hollered, "you made it!"

"Oh, my God," Bill said, and his mouth dropped open. "They sent Ads."

"Ads?" Theo said. "More like Nuts."

Loudmouth Guy skidded to a stop in front of them, stumbled, and threw his arms around Bill. "You made it!" he said, then kissed Bill loudly on the cheek. "And you brought someone? Have you finally convinced someone to make the beast with you?"

"Wow," Theo said. "Hi." Someone who was blunter and dirtier than Bill, but in public? This guy had to be from his itchy-footed mom's side. "I'm Theo Derensky," he said, sticking out his hand. "Bill and I have been making the beast since June."

"Pleased to meet you!" Ads pumped his hand hard and grinned at him, hands on hips. "Adam Took, Bilbo's cousin. Call me Ads."

The urge to laugh grabbed Theo by the throat and pulled hard. He broke down and doubled over, hands on his knees, belly heaving and eyes watering. "What…what the fuck," he said to the floor. " _Bilbo?_ "

"Theo." Bill's voice came out unmistakably filtered through ground teeth. "People are staring."

Despite his screaming abdominal muscles, Theo straightened up and wiped his eyes. "No way," he said. Another laugh escaped his chest as a painful snort. "Bilbo. I never heard that."

"Absolutely!" Ads shook his head, still smiling, and poked Bill in the shoulder. "His full name is William Beaumont Baggins, you know. It was a logical progression."

"Ads, shut up!" Bill exclaimed. He wrenched away from his cousin and put his hands on his hips. As usual, it just made him look cute. "Do I need to tell Theo the pirate name you gave yourself?"

Ads artfully flipped him the bird from behind a cocked wrist. "Go on, then, Bilbo, I've got nothing to hide."

Bill scowled. "Theo, tell Pirate Captain Adalgrim that he needs to fuck off and get our luggage into his car, or I'll give him a shot of sodium pentothal and he's not going to like it." It was a completely impotent threat, Theo knew, since he'd had it thrown at him a million times. He chuckled and shook his head at the thought.

"Theo, you can tell my cousin that he has no idea what I'll like," Ads said. He grabbed the handle of Bill's suitcase and tipped it back onto its wheels. "You've got reservations at the Red Fox, right?"

"Yes, but tell Prim to stop gossiping." Bill took Theo's hand. "Come on, let's get out of here. I really need a lie-down."

Ads looked Theo up and down with a wicked grin, uncomfortably like the one Bill deployed in bed. "He needs a lie-down, too, what?" he said. "Did you two get the big bed, or one single occupancy?"

"Hey, Ads," Theo said, "I'm with Bill. That makes you my cousin now, right?"

"More or less," Ads said.

"Then fuck off."

Ads looked taken aback, but only for a fraction of a second. Then he detonated a shrieking belly laugh that made every head in the immediate vicinity turn towards them. "Well!" He wiped an honest-to-fuck tear away from one eye. "You're officially worthy of Bill. Come on, let's get you two to the inn."

"You seriously call it an inn?" Theo asked as they began to move through the knots of milling people. "Are you guys that British?"

"Oh, my _God_." Bill pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand that wasn't tugging on one of his backpack straps. "Theo, do you want to keep drawing stares? Is that what you're after?"

Ads cut in with "Yes, I'm fairly sure he does, right, Theo, old bean?" He gave Theo's bicep a poke and led them out into the parking lot, where the fog was just as disgusting as it had been when seen through the train windows. How the hell could it be warm enough to not be snowing, Theo wondered, but still be cold enough to make a seasoned Bostonian like him shiver through his coat?

Ads's car was so quintessentially British in its tininess that it should have had the Union Jack painted on it. Bill, whom Theo had thought knew zilch about cars, surprised the shit out of him by rolling his eyes and saying as they shoved their luggage into the even tinier trunk, "A Vauxhall Adam, Ads, really? You're such an egotist."

Ads closed the trunk. "I'd take great umbrage to that," he said, "but I didn't choose it. Cousin Fort moved to Liverpool last year and left it to me. Said it would stick out too much there, if I recall." He held the passenger-side door open for them to pile in.

"Fort moved?" Bill asked, a flabbergasted expression on his face, and clicked his seat belt closed. Lucky, shrimpy asshole. Theo was having considerable trouble finding leg room, the curse of being 6'3" in a car full of short people.

"Yeah, I thought everyone knew." Ads slid into the front seat and started the car. "He got a job with some company, fuck me if I can remember what it does. Bollocks to him. If he wants to get a shiv in the gut, I say let him."

"Someone's gonna have to explain to me who the fuck Fort is," Theo said.

"Our cousin Fortinbras," Bill said, echoed similarly by Ads. "He's our Uncle Isidore's son. Quite a bit older than I am. How old is he now, Ads? Fifty?"

"Fifty-five and counting," Ads corrected, pulling out onto the highway, or whatever British people called it. His headlights cut a path through the gloomy weather. "His dad got started a bit earlier than your mum. The idiot still acts like he's fifteen, though."

"Okay, two questions." Theo held up two fingers. "One, does your uncle really have that big a boner for Shakespeare, and two, how are you two related, exactly?"

"Uncle Isidore's dead, but yes, he did," Ads said with a snort, "and Bill and I are first cousins. His mum was my dad's sister."

"Wait," Bill said, a little anxiously. He clasped his hands together. "Uncle Henry is still alive, right? I don't want to have to hear about any more large family changes."

"Don't worry, Bill, Dad's still alive." Ads reached back through the gap between the driver's seat and passenger seat and bounced a hand on Bill's knee. "He and Mum still live in Michel Delving, just like the rest of us."

"Hmph." Bill folded his arms. "Theo, Ads forgot half his ancestry. Auntie Rosa is a Baggins, you know."

"That's your mom?" Theo asked Ads.

"Mm-hm." Ads changed lanes, his eyes visibly squinting in the rearview mirror. "She's Bill's dad's first cousin, I think. I could be wrong, though. Bilbo? Correct me?"

Bill chewed on his lower lip a bit and _hmm_ ed, sounding much like his cousin. "You had it right the first time," he said. "Auntie Rosa is my first cousin once removed. She's Dad's uncle Peter's daughter."

"Oh, right, Granddad Ponto," Ads said, nodding. "I forgot he and your granddad were brothers. They've both been dead so long, I think everyone's forgotten."

"I never asked," Bill said, "but that rumor that went around about Uncle Peter choking to death on a chicken bone _was_ just a rumor, right?"

"Okay," Theo interrupted, unable to stomach any more of the dizziness that resulted from family connections zinging over his head. He'd never heard Bill talk this fucking quickly. "Your family's messed up, Bill. I completely approve."

"Not all of them," Ads said. "His parents were sweet together, I think. Bill, did you ever tell him the story of how they met?"

Bill frowned. "No, actually. It never came up."

Theo could guess why, and the thought made guilt twist in his stomach. He'd told Bill how _his_ parents met: in a refugee camp after the war, where Papa was still reeling from Buchenwald and Mama was still too young to know what was going on. They were two of the only kids in the camp, and when the time came to leave, they'd been so attached to each other that their sponsor sent them to America together. How would anyone have had the courage to speak up with something sweet after hearing that? "Tell me, Bill," he said as encouragingly as possible. "I want to hear."

"Oh, I can't believe I've never told you this," Bill said. "All right, from the beginning. My dad was born in 1923, and the Second World War started when he was a teenager, so he went to university for a couple of years, but then he got called up. Trained as a combat medic, actually."

"So that's where you get it?" Theo asked.

"Possibly," Bill answered with a one-shouldered shrug. "The requirements weren't so rigorous back then – you'd need a medical degree today, and he definitely didn't have that. He ended up being shipped to Europe and he came back with some really terrible PTSD."

"Shell-shocked, that's what they called him," Ads put in. "Mum told me he was seriously buggered up."

"Fuck right off, Ads," Bill said, although it was without rancor, and cuddled up a bit closer to Theo, shivering. "Turn the heat up in here, would you?"

"Your wish is my command," Ads said.

"Thanks." Bill blew out a shivery _brrr_ and rubbed his hands together. "Where was I?"

"PTSD," said Theo. "Your dad had shell shock." This was definitely juicy news to him. As far as he'd been aware, the only mental problems that ran in Bill's family had to do with some annoying cousins he hated.

"Right, right," Bill said, and nodded. "You'd think they would have had enough of him, but no, he got called up to go to Korea with the Commonwealth Forces when that war started. That fucked him up even more. Of course."

"Yeah, I bet," Theo said. "Wow. See, this is why I really have a beef with the military." He taught enough classes about shitty warfare tactics that he'd definitely know. His students always went from ready to defend military strategists at the beginning of the semester to totally flabbergasted and raging against the war machine at the end. That probably deserved a teaching award, and he'd been nominated three times so far.

"So Dad came back and his nerves were completely shot," Bill continued. "He got a desk job in London, but that didn't work out, obviously. Mum said he kept having flashbacks to the Blitz from before he got conscripted. So they looked the other way for a bit while he smoked a lot of marijuana, and then he came back and got a job in a bike shop in Michel Delving."

"Stoner Dad?" Theo chuckled. "That's awesome."

"Uncle Bungo was brilliant, though," Ads commented. "Brilliant, twisted little inventor, everyone was afraid of him. Not just because of the PTSD, either. He could build _anything_."

"Ads," Bill said, "am I telling the story, or do you want to tell it?"

"Oh," Ads said cheerfully, probably willfully oblivious to the laser look that Bilbo was shooting into the back of his head, "I can tell it. Bill's mum was twenty years younger than his dad, Theo. Are you surprised?"

"Not really. I've heard of weirder age differences." Case in point, Danny and fucking Brian Feldman, who was only fifteen years older than him, but looked way older. The two of them were so disgustingly cute together that it was veering into just plain disgusting.

"She was twenty-two years younger, Ads," said Bill. "If you're going to tell this story, at least tell it correctly." That seemed to be the segue he needed to adroitly take control of the tale again. "Mum was a complete hippie, Theo. She stopped going to school when she was sixteen and traveled 'round the Continent instead of taking her A-levels." He shook his head with a fond expression. "Her parents were completely furious."

"Wow," Theo said. "So you definitely get it from her, then." Made sense, if Bill's hidden wild streak (dating a Jew) and Ads's ostentatious personality (being a fucking weirdo) came from the same side. "Okay, you kind of told me about the Europe thing once. What'd she do there?"

"Contracted HPV," said Bill, "the lethal kind. At least that's what I think. She did end up dying of cervical cancer, and she was only thirty-eight. I don't think there could have been another explanation. She was definitely faithful to my dad after they got married, so…had to have been her trip."

"Shit, I'm sorry," Theo said. Disease had taken Mama and Papa way before their time, too, but at least they'd been in their sixties when they died. Thirty-eight was just cruel. He put an arm around Bill's shoulders, a little gratified when Bill cuddled him in return. "How'd they meet? We were supposed to be getting to that."

"Bike shop," said Ads.

"Yes, Ads, _thank you_ , but I'm telling it now." Bill leaned into Theo. "Mum built this bike herself from a lot of spare parts. It was really practically a motorbike, so one day, she rides it up to the bike shop and it's loud enough that they can hear it for a mile off."

"Yeah?" Theo stroked Bill's arm.

"Dad's working in the repair room, and there are these two absolute layabouts called Roddy and Jimmy working the front counter. This is sometime in 1967, so Dad's forty-four and they're somewhere in their twenties and they don't understand each other at all." Bill leaned into Theo's touch. "That feels nice."

"What happened? Did your dad call them lazy in front of your mom?" Theo moved to stroking Bill's curls, which were messed up from the nap he'd taken on the plane.

"No, it's better." Bill shook his head. "Mum pounds on the horn and shouts 'Oi, Roddy!'" – and here his voice went up a few tones – "'I've blown a gasket!' And she's got long hair and a long skirt on, the real flower-child look. All of them were staring. And Dad knew she existed before, but he left Michel Delving again when she was just five and he forgot. And then she was away in Europe when he came back, so he never saw her before that, really."

"Speaking of layabouts, that had better be as far as that touching goes in my car," Ads said. "I'm not a hotel, you know."

"Now you really sound like Auntie Rosa," Bill told him. "And what kind of perverts do you think we are?" he added, voice indignant. "We don't even do this with the windows open."

"Yes, we do," Theo said.

"Shut up, you, I don't need your input." Bill kissed his shoulder nonetheless. "We do this in the privacy of our own home. Do you want me to keep on or not?"

"Yeah." Theo returned the kiss to Bill's cheek. "Ads can suck it."

"I can't, because I'm heterosexual," said Ads.

Bill rolled his eyes and ignored him. "Anyhow, she leaves her bike and then Roddy and Jimmy start going on about how fit she is and Dad says no, she's lovely, and they make fun of him and call him an oul'son. And he's afraid that she's going to think he's a pervert if he goes for her, yeah? Because he's twice her age and, I mean, there was sexual assault back then, too."

"You exist," Theo pointed out, "so I gotta assume he went for it and she said yes."

Bill looked up at him and smiled. "Got it in one," he said, "but I shouldn't expect less from someone with a PhD."

"No academic elitism in _this_ car," Theo said, mock-seriously. "So how'd they end up getting together?"

"He sent her a rose," Bill said, "and he put the translation of her name on the tag. 'Belladonna' means 'beautiful lady,' so that's what he led with. She always told me she'd gotten that line a thousand times before him, but he was the only one who was honest about it."

"And then four years after _that_ , Bilbo came along," Ads said, "so Auntie Donna letting Uncle Bungo hide the salami is a complete foregone conclusion."

Bill opened his mouth indignantly and snapped it shut. That look he got when he'd had the rug pulled out from under him was always so funny. "Yes, Ads, that's what happened if you want to be a crude son of a bitch about it," he said.

"Look who's got a filthy mouth," Ads said. "For your information, we're nearly to Michel Delving. I didn't want to have to cut you off in the middle of something really heartwarming."

"You know, Ads," Theo said, smiling, "I've been wondering something." Oh, man, he'd been waiting to bust this one out ever since Bill told him where he came from, but he suspected that it would go over like a lead balloon in just Bill's presence. Ads seemed like a good sounding board. "What the hell is Michelle delving for anyway, and who's on the receiving end?"

The car jerked as Ads's laugh came out of his nose and his mouth at the same time and his forehead briefly slammed against the steering wheel. "Oi, there!" Bill snapped. "You've got precious cargo back here."

"Stop being such a fussbudget, Bill," Ads shot back. "I won't let you die." He flicked on his turn signal and slowed down. "All right, we're getting on the road to Michel Delving. Enjoy the scenery, Theo. Sorry it's not more visible, but this is really typical weather for us."

"Huh." Theo pressed the side of his face against the cold window glass. Ads had a point; this was really his only chance to see English scenery, so it would probably behoove him to make some kind of effort. As much as he strained, though, he could only see those same spooky outlines, although they were closer together now. "Finally entering civilization, huh?"

"Close to it," Ads said. "Although…I don't really know too many people who call Michel Delving 'civilization.' You've heard the phrase 'fishbowl,' Theo, haven't you?"

Theo had to laugh at that. "I live in a small town, Ads. I'm well-acquainted with everyone knowing everyone else's business." Whenever something happened, Dee told Boaz Budin, who told Bram, who told Benny, who told Noah Reisberg, who told his brother, who spread it around town like nobody's business (which was exactly what it was). That was how everyone had found out, five years ago, that he got a kidney stone about an hour after the renal colic started. Talk about embarrassing.

"You'll like our small town, then." Ads turned, and suddenly the wheels of the car were crunching over what was unmistakably a gravel driveway, and an enormous brown-brick building not dissimilar in design to Theo's own house appeared out of the mist. The turret was a nice touch, though. It made the whole place look even more like a haunted house.

"This is the Red Fox?" he asked.

"Yeah." Ads switched into park. "The inn, the inn, the merry old inn," he sang suddenly, "beneath an old gray hill, and there – ah, you wouldn't understand," he said, interrupting himself. "Sorry, it's an old Michel Delving song. You'll learn them someday."

"Probably." Theo gazed up at the windows, which looked dark and forbidding despite the fact that some of those rooms had to be occupied. "So does the whole town look like something out of Silent Hill, or is it just this place?"

"Just here," Ads said. He opened the door and got out, then opened Bill's and Theo's doors. Theo shivered from the sudden influx of cold air – he hadn't realized how hot the car was. "Want help with your luggage?"

"Sure," Bill said, and scrambled out of the car. Theo followed, zipping up his coat and clutching it hard around him. There was a drizzle falling, forming beads of water on the outside of his coat and on the surface of his hair.

Together, they yanked the luggage out of its vacuum-packed formation in the trunk and covered it as best they could with an umbrella that Ads kindly lent them. It, at least, had the Union Jack on it. "I'll leave the two of you to get settled in," Ads said, and pointed at Bilbo. "I expect to see _you_ at the Green Dragon at seven sharp. Bring Theo if you want. If the jet lag's got hold of him, we all understand."

"What's the Green Dragon?" Theo asked.

Adam stopped and stared at him, wide-eyed. "Only the best pub in all England, good chap," he said in a grand voice, chest puffed out. Then, in a normal tone, he said, "Seriously, people come from all over to have our ale. It's why Michel Delving didn't crumble into the dust a long time ago."

Theo licked his lips. Actual English booze, as opposed to the shit he'd gotten on the plane, sounded really good after having to squeeze his body into three different too-small seats today. No, three different too-small seats over two days if you counted the time difference between Boston and here. "I'll be there," he promised. "And I'll drink all the stout you got on tap."

"Then I look forward to seeing you there." Ads clapped his back. "Now, if you two fine gents will excuse me, I've got to get home. World of Warcraft doesn't play itself."

"Yes, we're ever so grateful you took the time out of your busy schedule." Bill crossed his eyes at Theo and made a couple of rude hand gestures when Ads turned his back to slam the trunk shut. Theo snickered. "Right, see you at the pub later. Thanks for the drive."

"Anytime." Ads opened the door to the driver's side. "I'd get in there before my luggage got wet, if I were you," he said before getting in.

"You heard the expert," Theo said. As Ads drove away (loudly, because in his admittedly limited experience observing cars on this side of the pond, mufflers _sucked_ here), they trundled their suitcases up the walkway and opened the double doors to a small, warm entryway that smelled like pine needles.

"Is anybody here?" Bill called out, shaking his hair out of his eyes. There was a warm fire crackling in a stone fireplace next to a Christmas tree that was obviously the source of the smell. By the look of Bill, he shared Theo's desire to curl up next to it. "We've got reservations."

"William _Baggins!_ " a voice roared. Suddenly, Bill was no longer standing next to Theo, but several inches in the air, caught up in a hug by one of the tallest, burliest women Theo had ever seen. She had to be at least eighty, possibly ninety since her crew-cut hair was snow-white, but she still stood at nearly Theo's own height. "Who raised you? Five years away and you haven't phoned me once!"

"Auntie Bullroarer!" Bill cried out, obviously delighted instead of terrified and screaming for dear life like Theo suspected he would have been in that situation. "You're the proprietor again?"

The woman released him and put her hands on her hips. "Oh, yes, a broken hip can't keep my Peggy down," she said, and leaned in to kiss Bill heartily on each cheek. "She's well again, my boy, so here we are!"

"Isn't that wonderful?" Bill stood on his tiptoes and returned her kisses. Was he possessed or something? He'd _complained_ about the European kiss before; what was he doing handing it out like candy on Halloween? "Theo, this is my grand-aunt Bandy."

"But you called her 'Bullroarer,'" Theo said. What else could he say? "Did I hear wrong?"

"'Bullroarer' only because I can't be called 'Bulldagger' in polite company!" the woman said with a wide smile. "Beatrix Took." She patted Theo's shoulder with the force of a falling anvil. "And you belong to my poofy nephew, I assume." Her gray brows knitted and, hawklike, she looked down her nose at him with a gimlet stare. "Are you the reason he hasn't sent me any e-mail?"

"No way," said Theo. "We've only been together for six months." He turned to Bill, who had a hand over his face. "Bill? Are you _facepalming?_ " Impressive. The only other people who'd ever made Bill facepalm were Theo himself and a particularly recalcitrant patient with explosive diarrhea, and even the patient was potentially an exaggeration. He'd heard about that secondhand from Bill's friend Monique.

"Who says 'poofy' anymore?" Bill asked his palm. "What decade is this?"

"Oh, come on." Theo grabbed Bill's wrist and dragged his hand away from his face. "Don't blame her. No one gives a shit anymore when they're a million years old. They say the most inappropriate stuff they can."

"That's right!" said Bullroarer. "See here, Bilbo, your gentleman friend understands."

"Bill," Theo said, "is everyone here gonna be calling you 'Bilbo' our whole stay? I'm not complaining 'cause it's fucking hilarious, but I just want to be brought up to speed." Bilbo. Why did Bill look so much like a 'Bilbo'? It was an even more fitting nickname than the one he'd bestowed on Dee when, as a normal six-year-old, she'd gone from one project to the other without finishing a single one: 'Deelettante.'

Bill sighed deeply. "Most likely. We might as well get used to it."

"That's the spirit," his aunt said. "Now, how long have you been traveling today? Be honest."

Theo counted the time up on his fingers. Plane trip, plus those two lost hours when he'd stumbled around Customs barely awake, plus the train ride and plane trip made…wow. Well, it was still better than being stuck in a car. "About ten hours."

Bullroarer tutted. "That's far too long. Far too long. What a shame, leaving you two without food." She took the duffel bag off Theo's shoulder and slung it over one of her own. "You must be tired and hungry."

"Actually, we had breakfast on the plane," Theo said, "but it was a while ago." Now that he thought of it, his stomach could definitely use some more food. Breakfast had been crepes (which probably came out of a package, but who gave a fuck), a mimosa that was probably half the reason he'd fallen asleep, fruit, English-style bacon according to Bill, and some pastries that were probably past their prime, but still good. British Airways knew how to do first class, and he'd said so to Bill while stealing his powdered sugar.

"Then you'll want to have tea with me," Bullroarer said. "Luckily for you, Peggy and I have prepared the two of you a fine one."

"Oh, Auntie, you shouldn't have gone to the trouble," Bill began, but Bullroarer cut off his protests with a held-up hand.

"My dear, it's no trouble at all. God only knows what you've been eating in America, but it's not the Red Fox's best tea spread," she said. "You're too thin for my liking."

"Actually, he cooks British stuff all the time," Theo said. "He made me stop eating fast food, too. I'm really pissed off at him."

"And it's lunchtime, Auntie," Bill said. "We can have tea later in the afternoon, or another time. Seriously, please don't go to any trouble." He wrinkled up his forehead and brushed some water off where it had dripped out of his hair. "It's very kind of you, though."

"Bilbo," said Bullroarer, "I'm eighty-nine years old." Well, there went that question. "I've been a bulldagger in England longer than you've been alive or thought of. I'm well used to bucking tradition, so if I wish to cook you a tea at noon, then I'll bloody well cook you a tea at noon."

Theo smiled and nudged Bill. "Hey," he said, bringing his mouth to Bill's ear but still speaking loudly enough that the powerhouse in front of them could hear. "I like her."

"I like you, too," said Bullroarer, and pat-assaulted his shoulder again. "Now let me call one of Bilbo's good-for-nothing cousins to take your things up to your room, and then we'll adjourn to the dining room for our meal. Peggy is finishing things in the kitchen, and I know she'll be ecstatic to see you."

"Where's the dining room?" Theo asked. "We can take ourselves."

"Mm, what a polite young man you are." Bullroarer reached around and honest-to-God patted his _ass_ , making him jump. "I understand what Bilbo sees in you. It's through the doorway next to the fireplace." She gave his ass another pat, this time squeezing the cheek. "I'll be there in a minute. Dearest lazy Flim-Flam needs to carry these things upstairs."

Theo looked at Bill, and without a word, both of them got the hell over to the dining room as Bullroarer shouted " _Flim-Flam!_ " at the top of her lungs. She could beat Phil and Caleb in an eardrum-piercing contest, Theo suspected. With bells on.

"Who the hell is Flim-Flam?" he asked after they'd sat down at the table, which was a slab of dark, scrubbed wood that looked like it could conceivably date back to medieval times. "That's one of the weirder nicknames I've heard today."

"My cousin Flambard," said Bill, "my uncle Irvine's son. I'm actually surprised he's working here. He's always been kind of a layabout."

"Wow, that does _not_ sound like it runs in your family," said Theo. He took Bill's hand and squeezed it where it lay on the table. "Ads talks a mile a minute. And your aunt Bulldagger? Shi _it_." He pursed his lips and whistled in admiration. "I want to be eighty-nine and still working when I'm her age, and I want to act like her, too. Not giving a fuck."

"Is that Bilbo?" Another elderly woman, this one short and shriveled with a braid of long white hair that fell over one shoulder, entered the dining room with a big smile on her face. "Say you remember me, darling."

"I couldn't forget you, Auntie Peggy!" Bilbo shot up from the table and enveloped the woman in a hug. "Aunt Bandy said something about your hip?"

Peggy patted a hip with each hand. "I had a double replacement not terribly long after you left, but I'm much better now. Don't worry yourself about it at all." Her accent, now that Theo listened, was a little different from Bullroarer's. Those double-back speech compulsions sounded kind of northern. Scottish, he guessed, probably living in Oxford for decades.

"Goodness, a double replacement!" Bill exclaimed, wide-eyed. "Would you happen to remember if it was open or minimally invasive?"

Peggy shook her head. "I was on far too much morphine to tell you, dear. Ask Bea. She'd probably remember better than I do." She put her hands on her hips. "Now, are you hungry? I've made you a fine tea, if I do say so myself. Shall I bring it out?"

"Yes, thanks a lot," Theo said. "We're starving. Well, I am. Bill's probably worse."

"Theo's right, Auntie," Bill said with a nod. "We'd love tea, and please sit down with us. We have so much to talk about."

"Call me Peggy," Peggy called over her shoulder as she started back to the kitchen. "For the hundredth time, Bilbo, 'Auntie' makes me feel so old! - _oh!_ Bea!" Bullroarer, who looked to have come in from the kitchen, grabbed her around the waist and nuzzled her neck. "We have company!"

"No, it's okay," Theo said. He knew well how hard it was to resist the urge to be affectionate. Ambushing Bill on the few occasions he'd picked him up from work, and Bill's subsequent reactions, had shown him exactly how much it sucked. "I'm gay. Not going to ogle or anything."

"That's good, because we won't allow it!" said Bullroarer, planting a last kiss on Peggy's neck. Peggy squeaked and swatted her. "Let's bring the dishes in before these two fine lads starve to death. Plane food!" She snorted. "I wouldn't trust it so far as I could throw it."

"And that's far," said Peggy. "Hop to it, then."

The two of them disappeared into the kitchen and came out with a series of foods in quick succession, all of them smelling amazing. There was a giant quiche steaming in a porcelain pie dish, an iced sponge cake, scones studded with what looked like currants, a platter of fruit, and three different pots of tea. By the time everything was on the table, it was almost creaking under the weight, and Theo's stomach was loudly voicing its desires.

"This is too much," Bill said when Peggy set the last dish down. "I'm flattered that you went to all this trouble for us, but the effort…I've got to insist you two sit and eat with us."

"Don't mind if I do," said Bullroarer. She took the seat on Theo's right side, while Peggy sat to Bill's left. "Tuck in, now, don't be shy. We haven't expended this effort for you to pick at our food."

"Shit," said Theo, while Bill glared at him, "when you put it like that, I kind of have to." He reached for the dish of quiche in front of him and cut himself a big piece with its silver spreader, then took some scones and cake when Bill passed them to him. The first bite of quiche was so gooey and warm that it made him close his eyes and moan. "Oh, wow."

"I made it," said Bullroarer, sounding smug. "I'm so happy you like it." She took a bite of her own piece and grunted. "Hm. One of my better efforts. Peggy, we've done good work today."

"What's in this?" Theo asked, and swallowed the bite in his mouth. "Vegetables, right? And eggs?" He didn't have the best relationship with things stuffed full of vegetables, but he was willing to make an exception for this quiche.

"Yes, plenty of veg from our winter gardens," said Peggy, with a sip of tea. "Broccoli, cauliflower, a few carrots. Spinach and…was the roasted garlic from our garden, too, Bea?"

"It was."

"Then that, and plenty of bacon." Peggy smiled at him. "I'm so happy you like it. The gardens are our best attraction, I think."

Theo bunched up his fingers and kissed the tips. "Delicious. It gets the Derensky seal of approval."

"Derensky?" Peggy's expression turned horrified. "Oh, goodness, are you Jewish? And I've fed you bacon!" She snatched his plate away. "Bea, I'm going to get the ipecac. Don't any of you move."

"Peggy!" Theo said, and put a hand on her arm before she could get away. "I'm so unkosher, it's not even funny. My family's ethnically Jewish. We're not super-religious."

Peggy stopped in her tracks and looked at him, wide-eyed. "You eat bacon?"

"Oh, yeah," he answered. "I got a pizza named after me at all the local pizza places, and it's not because I'm so committed to eating kosher, either. It's called a TJ Special."

"Tell them what that stands for, dear," Bill said with a smile.

"Gladly." Theo wiggled his eyebrows. "It stands for Terrible Jew. There's so many kinds of meat that the regular Meat Lovers' pizza wasn't good enough and they had to invent a whole new one."

Peggy giggled. "You're serious?"

"I'm sure they wouldn't lie about something that ridiculous," said Bullroarer. "Theo, my boy, if you're certain you eat bacon, then eat more quiche. I'll be quite insulted if you don't." She took a strawberry and shoved the whole thing into her mouth.

Theo took another bite of quiche and yawned with his mouth full. Bill thinned his lips and huffed at him. "Sorry," he said. "I've been up way too long." Looked like the nap he'd had on the train ride hadn't made a dent in his need for sleep.

"I'm not at all surprised," Bullroarer said. She took a piece of cake and began to cut it into pieces. "I finally made Flim-Flam move his fat arse – don't give me that look, Bilbo, his fat arse is purely metaphorical. Anyhow, I made him take your things up to the best suite. After tea, it's straight to bed with both of you until it's time to go to the Green Dragon."

"Good God, does everyone in town know we're supposed to go to the Green Dragon?" Bill complained, setting down his fork. "For the love of – this is why I left, I tell you. This stifling mentality."

Theo had to agree, but Bullroarer didn't seem to. "William Baggins, don't speak to your elders like that," she said. "I know you've had a hard day. That does not give you the right to take it out on others, do you hear me?"

Bill shrank back in his seat and said, in a meek tone that Theo had never before heard come out of his mouth, "Yes, Auntie."

"Good." Bullroarer took a bite of her cake and spoke through a full mouth. "That's settled. Finish your tea and then go have a nap. I'll be at the Green Dragon all night, I suspect, so I need one as well."

"Both of us," Peggy said. "I'm partial to a fine gin and tonic, myself." She tossed her braid over her shoulder. "But we're neither of us as young as we used to be. I'll have a kip as well."

"Well, okay, then." Theo shrugged and reached for a scone. "Looks like we've all made our plans for the afternoon. I'll probably be too full after this to do anything, anyway." Peggy beamed at him, which he took as a good sign.

The rest of their weird lunch-tea hybrid meal went off without incident, and by the time Peggy and Bullroarer cleared away the dishes, Theo was so full of food that he felt like that gluttonous kid from the Roald Dahl book (any of them would do, since Dahl seemed to hate fat kids more than any other kind). Bullroarer took them up a set of wooden stairs not dissimilar to the ones in his own house and down a short, red-wallpapered hallway that smelled like potpourri and was lit with beautiful wrought-iron torches. Electric torches, of course, but they still preserved the old-timey feel. "Here we are, the best suite," said Bullroarer as she stopped in front of the last door of the hallway. "I hope you enjoy your stay."

"Auntie, we can't thank you enough," Bill said. "I wish you'd answered the phone when I made the reservations! I would have been happy to talk to you."

She waved a hand. "All's well that ends well, Bilbo. I know you didn't mean to be unkind." She took a key out of her pocket and handed it to Bill. "Do you remember the way to the Green Dragon?"

"Down the back pathway and around the roundabout. It's a city block or two up Brandywine Street." The nostalgia in Bill's voice told Theo how often Bill had trodden that route in his life, and he wanted to know more. Had Bill visited when he was on vacation from college? He tried to imagine Bill as a younger, less cantankerous man, but could only envision his Bill with fewer wrinkles around his eyes. It was a nice image.

"Thanks a lot, Aunt Bull," Theo said. Bill turned the key in the lock and opened the door. "We'll see you in a few hours."

"I expect it," she said, and left.

The room was smaller than the hotel rooms Theo had stayed in before, but it was unbelievably cozy. Like the hallway, these walls were covered in wallpaper, although it was flowered instead of plain red. A big window with heavy blue curtains hanging to either side opened onto a view of the foggy street, and the bed was piled with so many pillows and such a thick comforter that it looked like it belonged in a magazine spread. "Wow. Auntie Bulldagger wasn't kidding." True to her word, their bags were also piled neatly next to the bed.

"For fuck's sake, stop calling her that." Bill took off his shoes and socks and threw himself inelegantly onto the bed. "Go use the en-suite," he said into a pillow. "I won't have you waking me up to urinate while I'm trying to sleep. I'll set my phone alarm while you're in there."

"Sure," Theo said. Bill had a point. He found the door to a small bathroom and bled the lizard, sneaking a few speculative looks at the claw-footed tub that took up most of the room in there. It looked big enough for him and Bill both. Maybe there would be time for them to have a dirty communal bath while they were vacationing.

Bill had turned off the lights and burrowed under the covers when Theo came back into the suite. He had a pillow shoved over his head, too, so all that could be seen of him was a few wild curls that resisted the feathery onslaught. Outside, the fog had turned to a thick sleet, and Theo had never been so glad for the opportunity to dive into bed. "Hey," he said into Bill's ear. "You asleep yet?"

"No." Bill took the pillow off his head and spooned his back and ass up against Thorin's front. "Go to sleep, Theo."

"Sure," Theo said into Bill's neck, and put his arms around Bill's waist to touch at the front of his belly. "Love you, Bill."

"Love you, too, Theo," Bill slurred, and that was the last thing Theo remembered hearing until the blare of Bill's phone alarm snapped him out of sleep hours later.

The alarm wasn't the only rude awakening. At the sound, Bill startled, twisted in place, and threw his arm into Theo's balls. "Shite! Shite, I'm late!"

"Great," Theo squeaked. "Awesome, Bill." Pain arrowed out of his scrotum up his back and belly and down his legs. "You got me in the junk." Fuck this. He knew Bill was a light sleeper, but now the chickens were really coming home to roost when it came to dating a medical professional.

Bill shook his curls out of his eyes. "I did?" Theo nodded. "Oh, damn. I'm sorry, Theo. I thought I was at work."

Theo cupped his balls in the palm of one hand and shook his head. Movement was not advisable right now. "Just don't do it again." The pain was already turning into a less painful, but no less annoying throb in his abdomen. "What time is it?"

Bill reached over to the bedside table, flipped on the iron lamp there after a little fumbling, and picked up his phone. "Six-thirty," he said. "I think that gives us enough time to pee and make ourselves presentable."

Theo ventured a slight movement – so far so good. He sat up, gritted his teeth against the horrible resurgence of pain in his na-nas, and stretched. "You want the bathroom first? Your hair's easier to deal with."

"I know you're just going to put yours in a ponytail," Bill said. "You go on. I'm going to change into a nicer shirt."

Theo kissed his cheek. "Thanks. And I forgive you for punching me, by the way." He pulled up his duffel bag and dug through it for his toiletry kit, ignoring Bill's sputters. "See you in a few minutes."

"It was an accident, you fucker!" Bill shouted after him. "And I already bleeding apologized!"

"I forgave you," Theo called back. "Doesn't mean I can't still get on your case." He shut the door and smirked at himself in the mirror, then brushed his teeth and tied his hair back. Maybe it was predictable, but whatever. Ponytails were a great look on him. A few splashes of cold water on his face and beard and he was ready to go.

Bill was standing outside the door when he opened it. "Oh, good," he said. "I've really got to wee." He pushed past Theo and slammed the door, and Theo heard the water turn on. Prude. He'd already swallowed worse things than pee, so what did it matter if he heard it?

"You sound about five when you use that word," he said through the door.

"Shut up," Bill said, his voice faint over the dual sounds of liquid trickling into various bowls. "I don't mock you for sounding like you're on Family Guy when you watch movies with Dwight."

"That's because I sound awesome and you just sound like a character from Monty Python." Theo stripped off his wrinkled button-down shirt and pulled his birthday sweater out of the duffel bag. Even during his horrible mood episode, he'd wanted to wear the sweater on the plane, but Bill had talked him out of it on the grounds that planes were disgusting. He had a point.

Bill came out of the bathroom, running fingers through his hair. "Are you ready?" he asked. "Oh, you look nice. Very dapper." He stood in front of Theo and put his hands on his hips with an admiring whistle. "You're going to be lovely arm candy tonight."

"Thanks a lot," said Theo. "I'll have you know I have the brain of an academic twice my age."

"Senility and all?" Bill raised both eyebrows. "Come on, let's go. Put your coat on." He shrugged on his own over the same cabled sweater he'd worn since they got up in Boston, and once Theo had put on his black parka, he locked up and they headed off.

It was fitting that the fog-turned-sleet had changed to blowing snow and wind while they slept. Under the streetlights, Michel Delving was a perfect Christmas-card town, light layer of snow-frosting on the roofs and all. There weren't very many Christmas lights, but he hadn't really expected any; it was much more of an American thing to decorate aggressively. Bill had been complaining about it for weeks.

The tavern was decorated with Christmas lights, though. They were spread out in an even array on its honest-to-God thatched roof, and through the mullioned windows, Theo could see the moving shadows that proved Ads right about how successful their destination was. It even had an old-fashioned shingle, a hanging metal piece over the door painted to look like a green dragon. "Nice effect," he said, breath puffing out in clouds, as he and Bill approached.

"That's been there as long as anyone remembers," Bill said. He wound his scarf more tightly around his pink face. "Are you ready? I'll warn you, we're about to get ambushed."

Theo groaned. "I was kind of expecting an ambush." Not that that was going to make it any easier to survive a night full of eager relatives. Bill had survived Hillel, though, and he _would_ survive the Green Dragon for him.

Bill took his hand. "I got an e-mail from Ads, though. He said they rented out the back room. That should make things a bit less…public."

"So no strangers?" Theo asked.

Bill shook his head. "No strangers."

Theo took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Okay. Let's go in." Bill laced their gloved fingers together, and they walked through the door to greet whatever the Green Dragon had to offer.

Immediately, the warmth of the front room began to unkink Theo's muscles as the noise of the pub surrounded them Glasses clinked – and in some cases, slammed – down against the probably centuries-old wooden bar, the voices of drunken people rose and fell in a jocularly familiar cadence, and somewhere in the background, the music was a bouncy fiddle tune. Bill pulled him through knots of tiny tables with a repeated, muttered "excuse me," using the same single-minded force that he'd employed to yank Theo off the plane (as far as his hazy memory of the day would let him remember). "Just keep walking," he said, and glanced at Theo. "Don't engage. We'll be social soon enough."

"Noted," Theo said. He let Bill pull him towards the back of the bar, where a round green door with a shining brass handle stood out from the off-white plaster walls. That door was the same green as his bedroom back home, the same green as Bill's car, and he had a weird sense that there was something right about so much in his life being green like that. Almost like he was home again.

Of course, that feeling went away as soon as Bill pulled open the door and what felt like a hundred voices shouted "Bilbo!" at a volume that made the walls shake. Then the shouters surrounded them, and Theo went from borderline deaf to borderline smothered. A hundred heads of curls just like Bill's, a hundred grinning mouths, and an improbable _thousand_ hands, all reaching for them – and Bill, against all odds, was _grinning_ right there in the middle of them all. Bill, who snapped at Theo for touching him when he had coffee-and-Red-Bull breath, was hugging relatives one after the other without a word of complaint.

"Uncle Longo!" He embraced an old man even shorter than he was, with thin white hair and a terrible cardigan. "Oh, you've got to meet…Theo!" Bill waved frantically at Theo with the arm that wasn't around his uncle. "This is my dad's brother, Leonard Baggins. Longo to everyone else."

"Goodness, my boy, you're a telephone pole!" said Longo. He stared Theo up and down, just like everyone in Michel fucking Delving seemed to have to do when they saw him. What was he, the Jolly Olive Giant? "Bilbo, this is your gentleman?"

"He sticks out here," said a woman's snide voice.

Bill's expression morphed from ecstatic to a much less creepy nose-wrinkled scowl in no time flat. "Lobelia," he said, in much the same tone of voice Theo might have used to greet Morningwood on an average workday.

"Who's Lobelia?" Theo asked.

"I'm Lobelia." The source of the voice elbowed her way into his field of vision and stood in front of him, hands on hips, dressed in the absolute loudest pair of pants he'd seen since the parachute version from the '80s. Her dark brown curls were shot with gray, but he guessed that she was probably around Bill's age. "Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, William's first cousin."

"By marriage, Lobelia," said Bill. "She's married to Uncle Longo's son Otho, but by birth, she's a Bracegirdle."

"And now she's _Sackville_ -Baggins?" Theo said. That name was too fucking ridiculous to resist a good solid round of mockery. "That's a riot. Hey, Lobelia, what are you? Grocer of the century?" He'd seen better outfits on the teenagers at Trader Joe's.

That got a big laugh from the assembled relatives. Lobelia's entire head, face, ears, and all, went pink from the neck up. "Well, I _never_ ," she said. "Is that how they teach people to treat strangers in America?"

"Nope." Theo smiled. It was getting easier to calm down when the crowd around him was a willing audience rather than an angry mob. "Even my sister says I'm a rude bastard."

"That's Dinah," Bill explained to his family. "I'm sure I've told a few of you about her. She's a bit terrifying and she never lets anyone forget it." He looked back at Theo and wiped a hand across his flushed forehead. "Look, I realize it's been a while, but could you all please stop smothering us? I don't want to disgust you all with my sweat."

The crowds parted and dispersed, and suddenly, Theo found himself in the middle of a much more normal party, complete with tables covered in food and various bottles next to the fireplace at the back of the room. "Well," Bill sighed, "I suppose I've got to go mingle now."

"Okay." Theo kissed his sweaty forehead. "I'm gonna go get something to drink. Come grab me if you need to show me off." He headed towards the tables, which were covered in finely-woven green cloth that matched the color of the door. "Hell, yeah," he muttered upon seeing several rows of cider bottles. Nothing could compare with good English cider, except maybe the expensive Californian varieties and the stuff Boaz Budin occasionally brewed in his backyard. He took a bottle and popped the top off with a thumbnail, then took a drink. Heaven.

Something pulled on the bottom of his sweater in the middle of the second gulp. Theo set the bottle down on the table and looked down, only to find himself looking into eyes as bright blue as his own. "Hi," he said to the kid, who was wearing bright red overalls. "You need something?"

The kid pulled harder on his sweater, so Theo bent down and let whoever's wandering spawn that was bring his mouth up to his ear. "I've got a biscuit," he whispered. "It's in my trousers."

Theo wrinkled his nose at him. Well, it could be a her, but he didn't think a lot of British parents put their daughters in overalls for a fancy meet-the-cousin's-fuck-partner Christmas Eve party. "Are you gonna share?"

The kid nodded, black curls bouncing, and reached into the front pocket of his overalls. The "biscuit" he pulled out was easily recognizable as Weetabix, which was probably the saddest excuse for a cookie that Theo had ever seen, but he took the half that the kid offered him anyway and munched on it with loud Cookie Monster noises to make him giggle. God, he looked just like Caleb had before the birthday fairy brought him a sense of humor when he turned five…so serious.

"I'm Freddy," the kid suddenly told him. "Frederick _Arthur_ Took Baggins," he added, pronouncing the names with utter care.

"Oh." Theo echoed his grave nod. "I'm Theodor Shlomo Derensky. Nice to meet you, Freddy. How old are you?" Freddy held up three chubby fingers. "That's a good age. I'm forty-two."

"Are you making friends, Theo?" Bill asked from somewhere above Theo's head.

Theo looked up at him, gave him his best what-can-you-do shrug, and stood up. "Conned a toddler out of half a cereal bar," he said, "and what about you?"

"What I said I'd do," Bill said. "Mingling." He looked down at Freddy with a soft smile. "Who's this, then? Are you Primrose's son?" He reached down and picked Freddy up, settling him on one hip. "Must be, you're just the image of your mummy."

"I wanna go with _Slo_ -mo," Freddy protested. "He eated my biccie."

"Slomo?" Bill covered his mouth and snorted. "Theo, what have you been telling him?"

"Serves me right for telling him my middle name," Theo said. He'd been called worse stuff than that, and right now, he did feel a little like his life was going in slow motion. Fuck jet lag right in the ear. "You regroup with more cousins while I was over here?"

"Oh, Lobelia's trying to make everyone avoid me, but they know better," Bill said. He bounced Freddy up and down a few times, and Freddy smiled, showing his pearly whites. "There you are, that's a smile! You've got nice teeth, haven't you? You're going to get a nice bounty from the Tooth Fairy if Uncle Theo influences Mummy and Daddy into doing it, aren't you?"

Theo crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out at Bill. "Not all American traditions are complete crap," he said. "I don't have any kids. Let me spoil my honorary nephew, huh?"

"He could use a bit of spoiling," a young woman said as she came up behind Bill and took some M&Ms out of a dish on the table. "You must be Theo. I'm Primrose Brandywine, Freddy's mum. He's just turned three."

"And my favorite cousin," Bill said, expression delighted. "Primmie! I didn't see you." He put Freddy down and threw his arms around the woman, and she laughed, set the M&Ms down on the table, and hugged him back. "God, I've missed you."

"You, too, Bilbo." She patted him on the back and winked at Theo over his shoulder. "He didn't say you were handsome, Theo. Where do you _find_ men who are this smoking hot, Bill? And why aren't you sharing?"

Bill pulled back from the hug, shaking a finger at her. "Because you're married, Prim. Where's Drogo, anyway? I want to hug him, too."

"Sick in bed with food poisoning." Primrose pulled a face. "He's past the vomity bit, thank God. Still couldn't come tonight. I'm sorry about that."

"Daddy has a _lotsa_ voms," said Freddy, clearly knowledgeable on the subject.

"Gross," Theo couldn't help commenting. "Sorry you had to deal with that, Primrose."

Bill's mind, however, had apparently gone to a different place. "What sort of food poisoning?" he asked. "And how long has he had it? I could come over and take a look at him if you'd like – I'm not a doctor, but…"

Primrose shook her head slightly. "Maybe tomorrow, if he's not feeling any better by then," she said. "Thanks for the offer, Bill. It would help for sure, just having someone who's familiar with sickness look him over. Make sure he's not going to die, that sort of thing."

"Mm-hm." Bill picked up Freddy again and settled him on his hip. "How did it happen? Freddy, don't pull my hair, dear." He calmly extricated Freddy's wandering fingers from where they had twined into his curls while he spoke. Theo sniggered, and Bill turned his eyes on him. "Not a word out of you."

"You got hairs like Mummy hairs and Daddy hairs," Freddy said contemplatively. "It's nice hairs."

"So far," Primrose said, taking both of her son's hands in one of hers, "his powers of observation are unmatched." She bent down enough to look her son in the eye. "No pulling Uncle's hair, okay, Freddo? It hurts Uncle. Do you understand?"

Freddy nodded. "Don't _hurts_ Uncle," he said. "And Slomo."

Theo let a chuckle escape, both at Freddy's insistent name for him and the stunned expression on Bill's face were too funny. "Uncle?" Bill repeated, and suddenly, Theo could swear there were tears in his eyes. "You want him to call me Uncle, Prim? We've never even met."

"Of course," Primrose replied. "You're at least a generation above him, you're related to him, and – Freddy, what did I _just_ tell you?"

Freddy batted at a curl, the picture of innocence with his wide blue eyes and quizzical black brows. "'S'touches, Mummy," he protested. "Not hurts."

Bill wiped his eyes with the back of one hand. "It's all right, Primmie," he said, eyelashes wet but voice steady. "Actually, could I take him with me? I should take Theo to make the rounds, or all the aunts and uncles will be very miffed with me."

Prim tilted her head and looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "All right, Bilbo, I trust you. Just don't take him out of this room. The tourists are loud and they'll scare him."

"We're gonna mingle?" Theo asked.

"I think we need to," Bill answered. "People have been asking me why you're not making the rounds with me." He briefly tickled Freddy's belly. "Don't worry, it'll be over soon. In half an hour or so, I'll tell them English cider has gone to your head and we'll go back to the inn before you can vomit on anyone. Speaking of which, bring your cider."

Theo raised the bottle and took another gulp. "No problem. Onward, Jewish soldiers."

"That's not what it's called," Prim said. "It's 'Onward, Christian Soldiers.' And Bill, to answer your question, the lasagna went a bit off in the fridge and Drogo's sense of smell is terrible."

"Welcome to Theo's sense of humor, Prim." Bill kissed her cheek. "Thanks in advance for letting me watch him. We'll be back soon." He linked his free elbow with Theo's, and with Freddy in tow, they started towards one of the groups of people.

God, and they said Americans were talkative. Within fifteen minutes (according to the clock in Theo's phone), Theo had heard more nicknames ending in the letter O than he'd ever encountered in his life. He also learned that Bill's three oldest uncles on his mother's side were dead, which didn't seem to surprise Bill after what he'd heard earlier that day about the latest uncle dying. Every older cousin wanted to know about Bill's job, every cousin their age or younger wanted to know about his new relationship, and without fail, every single relative wanted to know how Theo had "made Bilbo crawl out from under his rock" and get close enough to him to bring him to a family Christmas.

Theo answered most of them by pointing to his sweater and saying "I hired him to keep me in clothes," but occasionally with the really old and crusty aunts and uncles, he said "It's because the sex is really good."

Some of the geezers laughed at that. More of them glared, but Theo had a hunch that Freddy's presence kept them from totally reaming him out, Bill-style. It had been years since Phil and Caleb had been that young, and Theo had forgotten the joy of being able to use someone's kid as an entirely figurative human shield. He was also useful in that, at one point, he interrupted the conversation that Bill was having with one of his dad's uncle's postal carriers (or something) to say plaintively, pointing to Theo's cider, "Uncle, I wanna juice."

Theo looked at the bottle and took an experimental sip. Ick. It had been delicious at room temperature, but now that he'd been holding it for a while, it tasted like an apple had thrown up and then just left it there. "Bill, is there any juice over there?"

"All I saw were alcoholic drinks," Bill said.

"Oh." Theo looked hard at Freddy. He didn't look dehydrated, but still, it was ridiculously easy to dehydrate a kid in a hot room full of people. Theo himself had once experienced the joy of kidney stones after a long evening of drinking beer and Red Bull, and Freddy was obviously a lot smaller than he was. "I'm sorry, but we need to go see if they have any virgin drinks for him at the bar. He needs some electrolytes."

"Certainly, certainly," said the old man. "Children come first."

Bill shifted Freddy, who now that Theo thought about it, had been remarkably well behaved for a three-year-old in the arms of someone who was basically a stranger. "We'll go get something to give to the little lad," he said. His accent had been thickening all evening, growing richer in the local flavor and cadence. If you listened to him now, you wouldn't think he'd ever even heard of America, much less lived there. "Thanks for your consideration, Uncle Togo."

"Freddy," Theo said, "we're going to find you some juice. You want to find your mom?"

Bill stroked Freddy's hair. "I'll bring him back over to Prim, Theo. Go get a head start, I'll meet you at the bar. Butterbur's an old friend, anyway."

Theo leaned over and blew a raspberry in Freddy's hair to make him giggle. _Mission accomplished_ , he thought with satisfaction when Freddy squealed. "Okay. See you over there."

The main part of the pub was emptier than it had been earlier, which Theo chalked up to people going home to spend Christmas Eve with their families instead of their firkins. "Hey," he said to the barman, a portly, balding guy who – unlike most of the people in the back – looked absolutely nothing like any of Bill's family members, "do you have any apple juice? There's a thirsty kid in the back room."

Baldo tapped his gray-stubbled chin. "I'm sure I have," he said. "Just a mo, I'll look. Will water do if I haven't got anything?"

Theo leaned an elbow on the bar. "Probably," he said. "Thanks a lot for your help. I know it's probably been a long night." The barman murmured something agreeable-sounding and began to rummage around under the counter, and Theo took a look around to get a gander at who the hell was spending Christmas Eve in a pub, anyway.

His answer came in the form of a simultaneous flash of red curls in his line of sight and a deep, sardonic voice that froze the pit of his stomach. "Hello, Teddy." God, no, no, he couldn't be here. This was a nightmare or a night terror or something, the pub couldn't be famous enough to bring people all the way from… "Aren't you going to answer me? Your manners haven't improved."

Slowly, Theo rotated on his heel until he was facing the table full of tweed-coated academics, Drake Ignatius fucking _Smaug_ sitting at the head with the smile of a hunter who knew he was going to bleed his prey slowly and enjoy every second of it. "Iggy."

A few of his colleagues chuckled, but Smaug's smile only widened. "What on Earth are you doing in Oxford?" He used a long finger to stir the spoon in his half-full mug. Both hands were scarred with old pink marks and new scales mottled red and white, just as they had been a decade ago when he confessed how insecure he was about his psoriasis before kissing Theo so hard he couldn't breathe. Looked like he wasn't insecure anymore. "Have you come to beg for mercy?"

"Theo, have you found any juice yet?" Bill's voice behind him, concerned but light, so innocent. _Go away, please, fuck, stay out of this. He hasn't gotten to you yet._ "Theo?" Sweat formed in the hollow of his lower back and began to trickle down.

Smaug's teeth flashed bright white. "And who is this?" he asked as his voice dropped down the octaves into a frighteningly reptilian range. "Do be careful with that new arm candy, Theodor. Too much and you'll rot your prick."

Theo put his arm around Bill and pulled him close, ignoring his noises of protest. "We've been together for six months, Smaug. He's not new and he's _not_ fucking arm candy." Smaug had always had a gift for getting his hackles up, which didn't seem to have diminished any in the few years since Theo had gotten that letter. _I do believe that yours is the worst-kept secret in the Western Hemisphere_ , Smaug had written, and Theo wasn't stupid enough to miss the threat behind it.

Smaug pursed his lips with a dismissive _pfft_. "Hm. New arm candy, old arm candy, what exactly is the difference?" he asked. "You." He pointed at Bill. "Have you got a name?"

Bill went rigid all over. "William Baggins," he said, teeth gritted. "You're in my territory, you know. I was born and raised in Michel Delving."

"A dying town with one successful business," Smaug sniffed. "Don't delude yourself into thinking that you're anything permanent. Do you think that professors from Oxford would come here on any other night than Christmas? Or that one profitable night can fill the coffers of a business that has to be permanently in the red?"

"Now just a moment," Butterbur said indignantly, and one of the professors put a hand on Smaug's upper arm.

"Fine, then," Smaug said, waving a dismissive hand. "I retract my apparently spurious assessment of this establishment's profit margin." Theo was so _stupid_ glad, at that moment, that he'd run off. Who talked like that? Pretentious jackholes, that was who. "But not my assessment of Mister William Baggins. What is your profession, my dear sir?"

"I'm a nurse," Bill replied.

Smaug nodded. "Do come over and let me have a look at you. I promise I won't harm you." His teeth flashed. "Physically."

Theo rolled his eyes. "Bill, don't go over there. He's trying to psych you out, that's all."

"I'm not afraid of him," Bill said.

"Yeah, well, you should be." Anyone who got a kick out of psychologically messing with other people, in Theo's experienced opinion, was a hell of a lot scarier than some nutso with a gun. "Don't. You don't have to prove anything."

Bill skillfully disentangled himself and touched Theo's shoulder, which was probably meant to be reassuring but just made him nervous. "Theo, don't worry." And then, completely unprotected, he marched over to Smaug and stood tall in front of his chair – the only position, given how much of a stick insect Smaug was, where he'd ever be taller. Theo hoped to God he realized that.

Smaug crossed his arms and just looked at Bill for a long time as Bill visibly fidgeted. "Pirouette," he commanded. Slowly, Bill turned around – why was he obeying him, for fuck's sake? He didn't owe Smaug anything. "Hm."

"What?" Bill asked, hands on hips.

"Ignatius, this isn't necessary," said one of Smaug's colleagues, a thin blond man with blond hair who looked like a less evil Draco Malfoy. "Leave them alone."

"Oh, piffle," said Smaug. "I did say I'm not about to hurt him, didn't I?" He stroked his chin and resumed looking at Bill. "I must say, I don't understand."

Bill squared his stance. Theo had seen him do that before; once, he'd picked Bill up from work, only to find him in the middle of an argument with a doctor. Technically, the doctor was his superior, but Bill didn't seem to care, just argued with him – brave as all-get-out. "What is it?"

"Nothing at all." Smaug's tone was light, too light. "I thought I might find some clues to his attraction to you in your arse, but no, I can't seem to. All I see is a frumpy, middle-aged, fat nurse with few career prospects whom he's going to let go any moment. I do think it's a miracle you've held on to him this long, and for that I salute you. It won't last, though."

"Ignatius, for God's sake!" said another professor.

"I'm only stating the truth." Smaug stroked his chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Darling Teddy is attracted to intelligence, you know. I happen to have an IQ of 176."

Bill shrugged. "And he dumped you like a bag of rubbish, if you recall."

Wow. Theo understood why Bill had remained silent, if he was saving up for that comeback. _Burn_ , he thought, and grinned.

Smaug blinked, the only sign that Bill had at all discomfited him. "So" – but his voice was just slightly rougher than it had been – "what makes you think you'll last? Knitting him tacky jumpers won't keep you in his good graces forever, you know."

 _Tacky_? Theo would have gone over there and kicked the daylights out of him, but luckily for him, Bill beat him to it. Before Smaug could so much as smugly smirk over his verbal victory, Bill had drawn back a hand and punched him squarely in the nose.

Smaug howled and fell out of his chair. "You bastard!" he shouted from the floor. "Baggins, you bastard, you've broken my nose!" He put a hand on the table and pulled himself up, slowly enough that by the time his head emerged, his nose was freely bleeding and most of his lower face was covered in blood.

"You had it coming, you bell-end!" Butterbur called out. "You'll be lucky if I don't spit in your drink."

Then, to Theo's relief, all of Smaug's colleagues started chuckling – probably because Butterbur had said 'bell-end' and academics were about twelve years old (which Theo had been accused of being more than once). "He did deserve it," said the second man. "We won't object to you bopping him in the face. He's had it coming for a long time."

Smaug pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his face; it was completely ineffective, since by this time his nose was bleeding down his chin and onto the collar of his shirt. "You're all _bastards_ ," he snarled. "Fix my nose, Baggins. Immediately."

"He won't be fixing anything," came Bullroarer's voice from behind them, and her hand patted Theo on the shoulder. "I heard you threaten him the first time." Oh, thank _fuck_ , someone with sense.

Glaring, Smaug continued to dab at his nose. "Well, Teddy," he said, "shall we see how threatening I am when I give Auntie an earful of your secrets? I'm sure the nation would love to know."

Theo's blood went cold all over again, and he must have gone stiff or something, because Bullroarer gave him a comforting pat. "If we're speaking of aunties," she said, "do you know who I am?"

"No, I'm afraid I haven't had that dubious pleasure," said Smaug.

"Then allow me to introduce myself. I am Beatrix Took, proprietess of the only place of lodging in Michel Delving." She stalked over and stood next to Bill, putting a hand on his back and glaring down at Smaug. "You threatened my grand-nephew, insulted this fine establishment, and caused great emotional turmoil to everyone involved. You will not be spilling anyone's secrets today, or ever."

"And you, Raj," said Butterbur, "you've got terrible friends. I know you, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to give your rude friend a lifetime ban."

The second man looked down at the table. "Smaug isn't my friend," he said. "He invited himself to this gathering. I'm sorry, Barliman, we only wanted a pub night."

"Quite right," said the remaining professor in their group, an older man with white hair and a beard. "Smaug is entirely too full of himself."

Tall words from a man who'd been giggling at the word 'bell-end', but he was on their side, so Theo suspected he could find it in himself to forgive him. "We should probably get back to the party," he said. "I think Bill and I have had enough trauma for one night."

Smaug stood up, swaying a little, and sniffed hard. The blood on his collar was starting to dry, and he looked like an absolute fright. "I shall be seeing myself out," he said. "This town is a backwater, but I've got to assume that the taxis are running."

"Always," said Butterbur in a hard voice.

"Hm. Good." Smaug began to move towards the door. "Good-bye, then. I must find a willing medical professional to set my nose and wash the taste of your swill out of my mouth." With that last barb, he was gone.

Bill put his non-bloody hand to his forehead. "Good God, I'm exhausted."

"You ought to be," said the old professor. "You – Teddy, was it?"

"Theo," said Theo. "Theodor."

"Hmph," the man said, and nodded. "I daresay I can't say much for your taste in ex-partners, but your current fellow seems a real keeper."

"He is." Theo smiled. "If Smaug was angling for a pity fuck, he missed the mark so hard." Oxford professors probably didn't really like the term 'pity fuck,' but he could give a rat's ass at this point.

"Bill? Theo? What's going on?" Prim, wearing a thick winter coat and holding a drowsing Freddy in her arms, came into the main room. "Bill, why are you bleeding?"

"He isn't," said Theo. "He beat up my ex."

"Oh. Good for him." Prim adjusted Freddy's knit hat. "He needs to sleep and I just got a text from Drogo. It's all coming out the back end, apparently. I'll see you soon, Bill."

"I'm sorry we couldn't find any apple juice for him, Primmie," said Bill, and Theo was struck by how ridiculous a thing that was to apologize for. Bill came over and squeezed Freddy's hand with his clean hand, and Freddy opened his eyes. "Your mummy tells me you're going to bed. We'll see you soon."

"Ungle got a bleedy hand," Freddy said, slurring a little.

"It's not my blood, dear," Bill said. "Don't worry. Speaking of…" He turned his eyes on Theo, and now they were angry. "Was it worth the red, scaly cock?"

"Mummy, whatsa red _scaly_ cock?" Freddy asked.

"Wait, you're mad at _me_?" Theo asked. "You punched my ex in the face. My ex from ten years ago. You have no right to start pointing fingers, Bill."

Bill bit his lip. "I know," he sighed. "I know. It's just been a very long day. I think we both need a lie-down, and possibly some private time."

"Kindly don't corrupt my son with details of that afterwards, if you please," said Prim. "Freddy, I'll explain when you're about twenty years old. Now it's time for you to go to sleep." She gave Bill a crooked smile. "Bill, your hand is disgusting. Go wash it off, and then Freddy and I will walk you out."

"Red, scaly cock," one of the academics muttered, and the whole table started laughing again. "Cheers to the best Christmas Eve ever, lads."

If this was the best, Theo didn't want to know what their worst was, but he knew way better than to ask. "Okay, Bill. You heard your cousin. Let's do it." Merry Christmas to all, he supposed, and to all a better night than he'd had.

"Let me go say goodbye to everyone," Bill said, "and go to the loo." He headed towards the back room, leaving Theo alone with Prim, Freddy, and Bullroarer as well as the drinkers. Could have been worse, he guessed.

"I've never seen Bilbo use violence like that," Bullroarer said. "He must really love you." She crossed her arms, which brought her heavily-muscled forearms into view. What kind of ninety-year-old had arms like that? "You had best treat him right, Theo."

"I agree," said Prim. "Keep in mind that Bill has dozens of family members, and we all feel the same way."

The shovel talk. Great. He was forty-two years old and getting the shovel talk for the first time, and he had already had it up to here. "Let's just stop this conversation right here," he said, and his voice came out a lot harsher than he meant it to. "I've had a shitty day. I love Bill, and I have no intention of hurting him. Ever."

Awkward silence reigned for the next few minutes, but it was better than being threatened, at least. Bill broke it when he came back from the back room, a basket of cider bottles over his arm. "Prim, did you walk here?" he asked.

"Yes," Prim said. "Actually, I live right behind the inn."

"Then let us walk you home," Bill said. "I know Theo probably wants more time with Freddy."

"All right," she said with a shrug. "Auntie, we'll come see you tomorrow. Theo, do you want to hold Freddy on the way home?"

God, yes, he did. He needed a little kid to hold right now, to keep him grounded so that he wouldn't be fucking paranoid all night. Smaug had that effect on him. "Sure."

She handed him over and the four of them went out into the snowy night where, thank all that was good and holy, there was no trace of Smaug. Bill fell into step with Prim on the sidewalk, while Theo kept a few steps behind them, rocking Freddy in his arms. "You want a song, buddy?" he whispered.

"Yes," Freddy whispered back. "Christmas songs."

"Is a Hanukkah song okay?" Hanukkah had been a while ago, and it wasn't nearly as important a holiday as most goyim seemed to think, but Theo really didn't want to sing anything about Jesus right now. If the bastard had really died for his sins, then he would have swooped in and saved him from Smaug, and he definitely had not delivered. Besides, as a certain fellow grump would say, he was dead, Jim.

"Yes."

So Theo started to sing "Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel" just loudly enough for Freddy to hear. Freddy cuddled more firmly into him, which was nice. Phil and Caleb hadn't been willing to cuddle him like that for a long time, save right after their dad died, which didn't count. He wished he could go back ten years, back to when Phil was just a year or so younger than Freddy was now. He'd been reeling from an encounter with Smaug back then, too, but he'd had his own nephews to console him.

"You've got Lucozade, right?" Bill asked Prim.

"Yes, Bill."

"And he's been drinking plenty of fluids and getting plenty of rest?"

"Yes, Bill. Christ, you're worse than his mum."

"Then I think you're set," Bill said. "Promise me you'll tell me if he's not any better tomorrow. Food poisoning is bloody nasty stuff. You don't want to mess about with it."

Theo lowered his head and whispered in Freddy's ear, "You don't want to hear this stuff, huh, buddy? You don't want to hear about Daddy getting the poops."

"Daddy gots poops?" Freddy asked.

"Yup. Here we go, next verse. _It has a lovely body, with legs so short and thin…_ what do you think the next words are?"

Freddy burrowed his head into Theo's coat. "Dunno."

" _And when it gets so tired_ ," Theo sang, " _it drops, and then I win. Oh, dreidel, dreidel, dreidel…_ "

"Theo," Bill said, "kindly pipe down. People are going to think you're drunk."

"Everyone's a critic. _I made it out of clay_ …" He continued the chorus, albeit in a softer voice, and continued all the way up the street and down the path to where it branched, leading to a cluster of small brick houses. By that point, he'd transitioned to making up his own verses, beginning with " _Your uncle punched a jackass_ " and going from there.

Prim pulled a key out of her coat pocket and took Freddy from Theo's arms. "Thank you, you two," she said. "This made the walk go a lot faster. I know Freddy appreciated it, didn't you, Freddo?"

"Freddo or semifreddo?" Theo asked.

"Oh, ha ha." Prim rolled her eyes. "All right, he's asleep. That'll make things easier. I'll see the two of you sometime tomorrow?"

"Absolutely. Good night, Prim." Bill kissed her cheek and took Theo's arm, and they began back down the path to the inn. "Theo," he said after they'd left the immediate vicinity of the houses, "you never finished your last verse."

"What," Theo said, "you want me to finish now?"

"Yes, but just this one."

"Okay, let me think." He'd already been through Smaug the Smug getting punched, so now it was time for the aftermath. " _Oh, Iggy's nose was bleeding, his fancy shirt is trash. His friends say they don't like him, and they gave the barman cash._ "

"Perfect," said Bill, "just perfect," and the lights of the inn came into sight in front of them. Okay, so it definitely wasn't the best Christmas ever, but for his first Christmas, it could have gone a hell of a lot worse.

Notes: "Auntie" is a British slang name for the BBC. And yes, in canon, Butterbur was the barman for the Prancing Pony, but as there are cars here, the Green Dragon was a hop, skip, and jump away. As for what Bill did...I absolutely don't condone violence, and I realize that breaking someone's nose - as well as people defending him for it - may come across as a bit of protagonist-centered morality. But as we've seen in canon, Smaug is a scary fucker, and when a person has been terrorizing someone you love, you often go absolutely berserk. Also, he insulted the knitting. In addition, I don't condone Theo's views about Christianity, either. There are times when he's not a particularly nice person, and this is one of those times. I can be found (for purposes of yelling) at godihatethisfreakingcat . tumblr . com.


End file.
